


The Bachelorette & the Bobby Stripper

by Las_Botas



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3429332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Las_Botas/pseuds/Las_Botas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything was neatly planned out the month before her wedding, and Emma is feeling prepared, if a bit anxious. Until her friends drag her out for a night of fun, and she meets *him* in the most unlikely of places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hen Party

“You know, I wouldn’t have minded something…quieter.” Emma yelled over the hype-up music.

Ruby patted her shoulder. “Don’t be selfish, Emma. Don’t you want Elsa and me to have a good time at your hen party, too?”

“Silly me, I thought tonight was about what _I_ wanted to do.”

“It is. You’ll see.”

The announcer strutted on stage, and they broke off their conversation.

“Good evening, ladies!” he boomed, the spotlights glistening off his fake orange tan and gelled-to-hell-and-back spiky hair. “Have we got a treat for you tonight! Who wants to see some naked men?” A deafening, collective scream filled the air of the Hollywood Men’s club.

“Oh god,” Emma groaned, sinking her face into her hands. Ruby nudged her sharply in the side.

Emma turned to her other side. “I can’t believe _you_ went along with this,” she said accusingly.

Elsa shrugged serenely. “Call it morbid curiosity.” She gave Emma a searching look. “I’m actually surprised Neal was okay with this.”

“He, ah, er…I didn’t exactly…tell him.”

“No wonder!” Ruby laughed. “Otherwise I’m sure he would’ve busted in here by now, hauling you out over his shoulder.”

“He’s not a caveman,” Emma grumbled, without conviction.

They stopped talking again as the giant screens in front of them flashed with images of the first performer—some green-eyed blonde Italian named Andre. He strutted onstage after his introduction in a fireman getup, tugging suggestively on the waistline.

“Let’s see!” the announcer yelled out. “Whose got really good friends tonight?” He looked down at a piece of paper, and called out the name of a girl in the audience. She ran up nervously, a birthday crown teetering precariously on her head, and the stripper swept her off her feet—literally. As the music reached ridiculous levels, he spun and tossed the over his shoulder, flung her legs around his waist, shedding pieces of his costume throughout, and ended with her laid out on the floor in an

R-rated parody of CPR. She tittered shyly at the end when he gave her a peck on the cheek, and sent her back to her seat amidst screams from her group.

“’Really good’? Try the worst friends ever,” Emma said, rolling her eyes. “How embarrassing.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It looks fun,” Ruby said casually. Too casually.

Emma turned on her so fast, she felt her neck crack. “What’ve you got up your sleeve?”

“Absolutely nothing, Emma. God, so suspicious,” she exclaimed, but Emma noted the smirk she was trying to hide.

They sat through a few more sets of other women celebrating birthdays or bachelorette parties, trudging up the stage to have their dignity murdered, or so Emma saw it. At least the show was good for a few laughs at the cheesiness of it all. She sat back to watch the next set, calmly sipping her cocktail.

“Emma Nolan!” Her head jerked up. The announcer was squinting at the paper he held. “Is there an Emma Nolan here tonight?”

“Here!” Ruby and Elsa shrieked in unison, each holding up one of Emma’s wrists.

“Well, get up here, girlie!” the announcer yelled,”Don’t keep everyone waiting!”

 _Better to just get it over with than make a scene_ , Emma decided, and stood up.

“When I get back,” she said, pointing a finger at them, “you die.”

“Oh, just _go_!” Ruby gave her a helpful shove.

She staggered up the stage in such a haze of bewilderment, she completely missed the intro for the guy that would have the pleasure of humiliating her.

She sat on the chair placed front and center, waiting. The music started up again, and out he came. Judging from the gazes of the audience, he was behind her, but Emma still nearly jumped out of her skin when a pair of rough hands ran down her arms from shoulder to elbow.

“Hello, love,” a rich, British-accented voice murmured in her ear, before completely spinning her around, chair and all.

Even with a pair of aviators obscuring half his face, Emma could tell he was one stunning specimen of a man. Dark scruff covered his sharp jawline, and hair peeked out of the collar of the tight cop’s shirt, unlike most of the waxed pretty-boys that had preceded him. Much more rugged. And going by the blood that began to thump wildly in her ears, Emma had to admit she liked rugged.

He levitated above her lap, holding himself up with muscular thighs that were only too noticeable in the hot pants he had on. He placed her palms on his shoulders, lowering his head so she could see his eyes above the sunglasses. Eyes that even in the shitty stage lighting, were stunningly blue.

“Don’t be afraid to touch, love, that’s what I’m here for,” he said, then winked at her. Emma’s mouth dropped open, but before she could respond, he’d fisted her hands in his collar, and used them to rip the shirt off.

Emma gasped, immediately wanting to kick herself. Here she’d planned to sit stoically throughout the performance, and she was feeding his probably already inflated ego. Hands still on hers, he ran them down his thickly furred chest, ending at his tight abs. Emma gave an involuntary shudder, annoyed to see he’d noticed and was grinning like an idiot at her.

 _What the hell, Emma? Are you really going to let a_ stripper _get the better of you?_

Fine, she decided, if he wanted her to touch, that’s exactly what she’d do.

He spun around, grinding his ass down into her lap, and Emma smacked her hands smartly against his hips, forcing him down even further. She smirked when she felt him start in surprise for a second before he resumed the dance. He tilted his head back until his lips were right next to her ear.

“Ooh, you’re a tough lass, aren’t you?”

Emma worked a fingertip just inside the waistband, pulling back and releasing it with a snap against his skin. “Just dance, buddy.”

“As you wish.”

He bolted up, turning around so she was eye level with his bulge as he reached under the crotch and ripped the shorts off. Emma forced herself to keep staring at his face as the black thong bobbed in front of her. He reached down, hauling her up by the forearms.

“Uh-oh, looks like it’s strip search time!” the announcer informed the crowd, as the stripper placed a hand between her shoulders, pushing Emma to bend over the chair, palms on the seat.

She whipped her head around. “Are you freaking kidd—“, she began, but stopped when she saw him, sunglasses now gone, raising an eyebrow in challenge at her. She turned back with as much poise as she could muster for being bent over onstage at a strip show.

Now his palms were sliding smoothly over the sides of her ass, giving a light slap on the right side. Emma gritted her teeth, and drove her hips backwards, rubbing her ass right into his bulge. She grinned, gratified when she heard his sharp inhale.

He spun her around into a standing position, face to face, running his hands down her sides, hoisting one of her legs around his waist, squeezing their lower halves together. Emma dropped her head back invitingly, and he took the bait, careful not to use his lips, but skimming his scruff over her shoulders, the column of her throat, the tops of her breasts.

Her eyelids fluttered back open when she felt a sharp nip on her earlobe, and she gripped his shoulders on instinct as she nearly tumbled over backwards. His arms tightened around her, keeping her steady.

“I don’t mean to upset you, _Emma_ ,” he whispered, scruff tickling her ear, “but I think we make quite the team.”

 _The fuck?_ “Who the hell do you think you are?” she hissed, “You don’t know a thing about me!”

He looked a bit stupefied at this sudden turnabout in behavior, but merely righted them both to take a final bow as the announcer clambered back to the stage.

“Wow, how about that, huh? Even I was getting hot, and I’ve seen it all over the years! Everyone, give a round of applause for Killian and Emma Nolan!”

Emma jerked out of Killian the Stripper’s grip, stumbling towards the stairs. The nerve, she thought angrily, just because she could flow with his stupid routine, he thought he could get a read on her. Well, fuck that.

* * *

All three girls were toting their heels in their hands as they navigated the parking structure after the show. Ruby was a bit miffed that Emma had insisted on taking off before the $10 post-show dances started, but she _really_ wasn’t in the mood. Elsa, the designated driver for the evening, slid behind the wheel, while Emma pushed Ruby away and climbed into the back seat.

“I’m mad at you guys,” she said petulantly, and still slightly drunk. “I’m not talking to you for—for a long time!”

“Oh, all right,” Elsa said neutrally, examining her clear-coated nails. “Say, Ruby, Emma sure seemed to be having fun up there tonight, didn’t she?”

“Oh, _I’ll_ say, Elsa! Between the groping, the eye fucking, the yearning looks…I’m _kinda_ confused about who was putting on a show for who!”

Emma bit her lip, but in the end she couldn’t contain herself.

“I _do not_ yearn!” she declared drowsily, before falling asleep for the remainder of the ride home, a telltale set of blue eyes repeatedly popping up in her dreams.


	2. The Family

Emma skirted her way around the patio furniture, making her way into the little shed built off the sprawling townhouse in Manhattan Beach. She pushed the door open quietly, peeking in.

Her father was bent over his workbench, blueprints scattered in front of him, and Emma grinned at the familiar sight. It was one she’d walked in on since she was old enough to remember, and at that thought, she felt like a stone had just dropped into the pit of her stomach. After the wedding, she’d be over two hours away, in Montecito, and though it certainly wasn’t a planet away or anything, it would be…different. Except for a few trips to Vegas or New York with the girls once she was old enough, she’d never been far from her parents for long. Honestly, it made her panicky to even think about it. She took a deep breath, chasing the thought from her head, and rapped on the doorframe.

“Hi, Dad.”

David looked up, fingers falling from where they’d been anchored in his short, gray-streaked blonde hair. His previous frustration melted from his face.

“Hey, princess! When did you get here?”

“Just now,” she said, walking over and resting a hand on his shoulder, peering down. “Whatcha working on?”

“Just more of those hotel plans your future father-in-law is demanding to have a look at. That man doesn’t seem to have much concept of a reasonable time frame.” He glanced up at her, gave a quick grin. “Maybe you can ask that boyfriend of yours to have a talk with him?”

Emma held up her hands in placation. “You know I don’t get involved in the business dealings. I’m strictly books-and-numbers help. _And_ ,” she said reproachfully,” it’s _fiancé_. Has been for over a year, you know.”

He sighed. “All this wedding nonsense is making me feel old.”

She gave him a playful nudge with her hip. “You _are_ old,” she teased. “And you better get used to it; it’s going to be _husband_ in”—she glanced down at her phone—“twenty-six days.”

“Hmph,” he grumbled, then switched over the conversation. “How was last night? Are you allowed to tell me about it?”

“I don’t know,” Emma said, squinting at him. “How much did Mom tell you?”

“Oh,” he said, scraping at a splinter on the table, “just that was some male revue-type thing.” He looked up sharply. “Did anything happen? None of those dancers… manhandled you, did they?”

She laughed. “No, Dad. They keep everything there perfectly civil.” _Well, nearly_ , she thought with a pang of irritation. Who was that Killian, to think he—

“Well, better go inside and see how your mom’s coming along. I’m sure she’s worked herself up into another lather about some minute detail or other.” He chucked her on the chin. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

She made the lips-sealed motion, and took the side door into the main house.

* * *

“Oh my god, Mom, are you in there?!”

Emma stared with horrified fascination at the towering mound of champagne-colored tulle in the middle of the living room floor. Her step-grandmother, Regina, was sitting a few feet away at the dining room table, punching a calculator, and glanced up to eye the whole mess with distaste.

 A pair of arms shot up from the fabric. “Hey, honey!” Mary Margaret called.

Emma went over, pulling her mother up from the floor. “What the hell’s all this for? I already have a dress, you know.”

“Don’t be snippy. This is for the placecards.”

“How many people are coming to this thing, ten thousand?” Regina sneered.

Emma walked over, perched on Regina’s chair arm. “Hi, Gran-Gran!” she said brightly, knowing how much Regina hated the nickname and any kind of implication to being old enough to be a grandmother, especially since she was only thirteen years older than her stepdaughter. Emma had been intimidated by her as a younger child, but by the time she’d reached her sarcastic teenage years, she’d found that Regina respected you when you were able to butt heads with her on the same level.

Regina, face schooled into indifference from years of practice, ran a long red nail through her well-coiffed bob. “I don’t understand that reference, and I won’t respond to it.”

“Ooh, Emma, look at this!” Mary Margaret darted over, a sample in her hands. “Look, the tulle makes a little skirt _here_ , and then the ribbon goes _here_ , and, and, oh my, it’s just going to be so beautiful, _you’re_ going to be so beautiful—“

Regina waved a hand at them. “Can you go have your case of the vapors elsewhere? You’re infringing on my workstation.”

Emma leaned over. “What exactly are you up to, Regina?”

“Giving your father a hand with the new account.” She looked up, a feral grin stealing over her face. “It’s certainly going to bring Nolan Construction out of its slump.” She pointed a finger at Emma. “Don’t screw things up with Mr. Trust Fund Baby.”

Emma frowned. “I didn’t think things were that bad.”

“They aren’t!” Mary Margaret cut in. “Just, you know, it never really recovered from the first recession. I mean, it’s been good, but not great. This…this’ll help. That’s all.”

“Got it, Mom.” But Emma didn’t like the sound of things.

“Anyways,” Mary Margaret said sunnily, obviously wanting to change the subject. “Did you have fun with Ruby and Elsa last night?”

“It was…an experience.”

Regina’s head snapped up. “What’s this? Was this for the bachelorette party?”

“Yeah. We went to…to the Hollywood Men show.”

“Ah,” Regina clucked her tongue. “Any rival contenders sweep you off your feet, make you think about calling off…all _this_?” She looked over at the decorations again disapprovingly.

“ _Regina_ ,” Mary Margaret began, but Emma answered.

“ _No_. Of course not.”

“You’re blushing!” Regina cackled. “Well, I hope you got one more good go of it. Because after the thirtieth, for the rest of your life, it’ll be laughing at his inane humor, travelling to Big Daddy’s hotel conferences, and—does he slop food everywhere when he eats? He looks like he does—cleaning up after his messes.”

She held up a finger. “And as for the bedroom: I’m sure his routine’s stale as a Triscuit already. Take my word for it, just lie back and think of Eng—“

“O- _kay_!” Emma jumped up as if she’d been stuck with a pin. “That’s my cue.”

She turned to her mother. “If there’s anything I can put together, I’d rather just do it back at the apartment.”

Mary Margaret’s bottom lip jutted out. “But you just got here!”

“Yeah, I know, I’m just feeling a little…tired after yesterday. Late night,” she said, pointedly ignoring Regina’s snicker.

Her mother seemed to get a hint. “Oh, all right,” she conceded.

She stuffed a few things into a sturdy shopping bag, and walked Emma to the door.

“Here’s the swans, you just punch them out—isn’t that ingenious? And I’ve put the guest list in here. Are your calligraphy skills still good?”

“Sure.”

“Great! Well then, just write each name in the center, and you’re done. Bring them back, and I’ll stick them onto the main card.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She hugged Mary-Margaret, and walked out without another word to Regina. She didn’t know why she was so bothered by her particular remarks today; she was always making acerbic comments. Maybe she was too old to stay out late anymore. It was making her crabby.

* * *

The bag of cardstock swans were left on one of the kitchen chairs as soon as Emma got home. She had absolutely no stomach for them right now. She rubbed at her temples; maybe a nap actually was in order.

Before hitting her bedroom, she took a detour into the second bedroom, which she’d fashioned into her workspace upon first moving in nearly five years ago. These days, it seemed to be more like a tomb. All of her old paintings lined the wall, some facing out, some stacked one on top of the other. Her art desk had a fine layer of dust on it, and there were full dust bunnies gathered around its legs. Emma ran her fingertips lightly over the tubes of oil paint, probably dried out by now. She was never very good at screwing the caps back on completely. What did it matter that she was moving? She wasn’t using the space anymore. All her work would probably go into storage; Neal was never a great fan of her technique anyway. Although, he’d said indulgently, if she was good, maybe a few pieces could be used to adorn the guest bedroom, where whoever was visiting would be in no place to complain about it.

Her mouth stretched into a wan smile (more of a grimace) at the remembrance, while she moved to the window. This one still had the best view in the whole apartment. She could see a generous portion of the most bustling swath of Santa Monica, while also being able to glimpse the ocean beyond it. You could even make out the pier if you looked hard enough.

God, she would miss it. Who the hell did she know in Montecito? She wouldn’t even be able to piggyback on hanging out with Neal’s friends, because he was currently living with his father in Pasadena. When Mr. Gold had offered the other house as a wedding present, Neal had jumped at it.

“I can’t take my father anymore, Emma. He’s smothering me with his demands, his business. The only way to get out from under his influence is to take the house. Don’t get whiny about it; it’s going to be exciting. A new start!”

 _Exciting_. Emma sure didn’t feel any more excited about the concept than when it had first been brought up, which registered somewhere around _barely_ and _not at all_.

 Her phone vibrated suddenly, jerking Emma out of her worries. She reached up to push her hair back, feeling wetness on her cheek. She hadn’t even realized she was crying.

“Fuck,” she growled, tugging the phone out of her jacket pocket, squinting at the number while brushing at her eyes. _Hmm_. A 562 area code. She couldn’t think of anyone she knew down that way, but Ruby was notorious for forgetting her phone at least twice a week. Maybe she was calling from whichever theater the stage crew had her stationed at this time. Though Emma seemed to remember her mentioning being in downtown this week….

“Hello?”

“Emma? Sorry, is this Emma Nolan?”

 _Definitely not Ruby_. “Who wants to know?” she said gruffly, prepared to unleash a verbal lashing of epic proportions if it was a telemarketer. Had to release the frustration somehow.

The accented voice on the other line chuckled before answering. “Killian Jones is the name. Seems your friend left her phone behind in the booth last night at the club.”

 _Killian? Oh god, it was the stripper._ “Well, thanks,” she said in as calm a tone as possible. “I’ll let her know to drop by and pick it up.”

“Er…it’s not at the club anymore, lass. I have it.”

She sighed heavily. “Why?”

“That place is chaos 24/7. I thought it might get lost. I remembered your name, found it in the address book, and took a chance.”

“Okay, well where can she reach _you_?”

“I live in Long Beach. Work at the container yard most days.”

Ugh. Who said it had to be a telemarketer? He was looking like a better candidate for her rage more and more. Long Beach would be a nightmare to get to for Ruby, and despite her stunt last night, Emma didn’t want to put her through that. She still needed her to be the Maid of Honor, after all.

“Alright, Killian Jones. Name a time and place—a _well lit_ place—and I’ll be down this evening.”


	3. The Museum

After fighting her way through the horrendous Sunday evening freeway traffic (though when _wasn’t_ it a mess?), and dealing with the notorious Long Beach parking issues, Emma finally swung open the door to The Pike a little after 9pm, in an even worse mood than she’d left in.

She winced when she felt a stickiness on the bottom of her shoes after only a couple steps, trying to ignore it while she scanned the bar. It looked like an odd mix of old men, hobos, and groups of college kids. But Killian Jones was an easy one to pick out, even in the dark establishment. He sat at one of the picnic tables the furthest corner, bright eyes beaming at her like a cat. It was a bit unsettling. She firmed her mouth into what she hoped passed for a no-nonsense look, and made for him.

“You know,” she said, sliding in across from him, “when I said ‘well lit’, I didn’t mean a place that looks like nobody would notice or care if someone got shanked in one of its corners.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh, it’s quite safe, love. As long as I’ve been coming here, hardly anyone’s been murdered.”

“Ha,” she retorted flatly.

“I’m quite happy you’re here, lass,” he continued. “Even though you said you’d be the one dropping by, I was still a bit worried your friend might show up instead. You see,” he winked at her, “I was hoping it would be you.”

Emma ignored the little flutter in her chest, made a show of being unimpressed. “That line may work for the MILFs you rub yourself all over, but I assure you, it doesn’t on me.” It came out far harsher than she’d meant, but she wasn’t going to show any weakness by retracting it.

A pulse jumped in his jaw, but he kept his voice level. “You’re not really one to be acting high and mighty, now are you? I recall you being up on that stage too, and from the looks of things, _quite_ enjoying yourself.”

She could feel her face grow warm. “It wasn’t my choice! My friends signed me up for—for a last hurrah.”

“Didn’t see you complaining. Now, how about showing a tad of gratitude? Want a drink?” He got up to walk just a few steps to the bar in the small joint. Emma noticed there was already one empty glass in front of his spot.

“Rum, lass? You look like the type.” He shouted his order at the bartender.

She crossed her arms. “I didn’t come to socialize. I appreciate you picking up Ruby’s phone and all, but—“

“Here we go!” he plunked a stout glass in front of her. “Rum. No coke. You look like you can take the _hard_ stuff.” His tongue flicked out quickly over his bottom lip.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You didn’t seem to think so last night.”

“Would you _stop_ bringing that up? What is this? Are you holding my friend’s phone for ransom in exchange for conversation?”

Killian looked down, fiddled with his second glass that he got for himself.  “I’m sorry, believe I’ve made a mistake. When I reached Emma Nolan, I thought it’d be the same fun-loving type who acted like a part of my routine, not her twin who, though still possessing a very lovely exterior, obviously has a poker up her arse.”

Emma was sure her face must be red as a beet by now, but she decided to at least try and maintain some semblance of control. “As it seems too hard for you to put two-and-two together, genius, I’m _engaged_. So I don’t know what you were hoping for by getting me down here tonight.”

“That you may be. But you’re not happy about it.”

She forgot all anger, her tone one of complete shock. “Excuse me?”

Killian felt a little sorry for starting down this road, but when he heard the fight go right out of her in an almost audible _whoosh_ , he pressed on.

“Aye, that’s right. I’ve seen all manner of lasses come into the club. Happy, resigned, plain unhappy with their lot in life—but you just seemed…relieved about being out and about. What’s the story, love?”

She glared at him. “Are you always this nosy with random women?”

“Actually, no. Never. But you look like you could use a good chat.”

He really wasn’t going to let this go. “There’s nothing wrong in my relationship. We’ve had some bumps in the road over the years, but—but everybody does.”

“You don’t have to tell me about your bloke, love. How about just you?”

That gave Emma pause. It had certainly been awhile since she’d had to regal anyone with details of her life. Ruby and Elsa she’d known for years, had always hated the thought of online dating, and those hook-ups that had happened a few times between break-ups and make-ups with Neal were just that. Nothing personal, purely to satisfy the physical ache. She cleared her throat, looked down, picking at the worn wood grain.

“Um…I guess I’m kind of an anomaly around here. I’m an L.A. native, and I love it. Even with the traffic.”—here he interjected a laugh—“I, um, went to Otis—“

“What’s that?”

“Oh…it’s an art college, off the 90 nearby. I’m a—I used to paint.”

His gaze narrowed; he looked almost annoyed at her answer. “What do you mean ‘used to’?”

What was there to not understand? “It means I used to, and I don’t anymore.”

“Why the hell not?”

 Emma stood up suddenly, bench scraping the floor. “What is this, amateur psychology hour? We’re done here.” She made the few steps to his side of the table, and before he could blink, ran her hands swiftly down his sides in a rudimentary pat-down, stopping when she felt the mass in his jacket pocket. He gave a surprised laugh, leaned back from her, but she persisted, not caring that she was giving him a generous serving of her assets right in his face. If he was being immature, so could she. She fished Ruby’s phone out of his pocket.

“Good _night_ , Mr. Jones.”

She had only made it about three paces out the front door, when she felt a hand on her elbow. Furious, she spun around, fist at the ready. Killian flinched when she caught him on the shoulder, but grabbed onto her hand.

“Violent though you are, love, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

Emma tried to sniff discreetly, hold back the tears that were pricking behind her eyelids. She refused to cry in front of some annoying, dashing stranger; she was embarrassed enough already.

“Well, you sure fucking did. Now leave me alone; I’m going home.” She turned to head down the street she’d parked.

He still hadn’t dropped her hand. “Let me make it up to you.”

She turned back, incredulous. Was this guy for real? “Not necessary.”

“I insist. I have some sick days saved up. What’re you up to tomorrow?”

She sighed, suddenly not caring. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m seeing an exhibit at LACMA that I’ve been looking forward to.”

“Well then, LACMA it shall be. Noon-ish? Unless you’ve already got some riveting company.”

“My friends are working and my—uh, no one else I know is really interested in that sort of thing.”

“Going alone? Well, lass, I refuse to let that happen now.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “A museum isn’t exactly a social event. Nevertheless,” she said reluctantly, “it’s a public place, and I can’t stop you from going.”

He graced her with one more wink. “I look forward to it.”

* * *

“What the hell just happened?” Emma muttered crossly to herself once she got home, throwing her purse into a corner of the closet. She glanced at her watch; it was late, but she  _really_ needed to talk this through.

“Hullo?” Elsa’s voice, thick with sleep, greeted her.

“ _Heyyyy_ , friend. Gotta sec?”

Elsa snapped into alertness. “What’s wrong? Something better be wrong, Emma Nolan. Do you know how early I have to wake up tomorrow?”

“Nothing’s wrong, but I have an…odd situation I wanted a different perspective on.”

“Isn’t Dr. Ruth on at this hour? Give her a call.”

“I met up with the stripper.” Sometimes the best way of shutting up Elsa’s practical reasonings was to stun her into silence. It worked.

“You… _what_? The one you were grinding on last night?”

“I was _not_ —okay, that is neither here nor there. But yes, I met up with the one I was _dancing_ with. He picked up Ruby’s phone, and I was getting it back. Oh, and his name’s Killian Jones.”

 “Alright, you’ve already disappointed me by not meeting up to run away together, or something dramatic. I’m assuming there’s more to this story? I’m waiting for the punchline here.”

“He wants to hang out tomorrow. I mentioned I was going to LACMA, and he kinda…invited himself along. Nothing romantic about it… I think. He’s just weird.”

“So, a hot, weird guy wants to go see some art with you tomorrow? I’m not seeing the problem here.”

“But what about—“

“Emma, you’ve asked Neal multiple times to go with you on these kinds of things. The museum, the opera, hiking, what-have-you. And nine times out of ten, he starts whining about it like a toddler being forced to eat his vegetables.”

“Hey, please don’t start in on the Neal-bashing. You and Ruby have made it perfectly clear how you feel—“

In a rare moment, Elsa lost her composure. “And can you blame us?” she said hotly. “Sorry. You know there’s no love lost between Neal and me, but this is just an honest suggestion here: this guy wants to hang out doing something you enjoy. Just because you’re getting married doesn’t mean you can never speak to another man again. I’d say go with it.”

“I’m not sure Neal would see it that way.”

“So don’t tell him. _Maybe_ this Killian is a dog and only wants in your pants, but so far he just sounds…friendly, I guess? If things go south tomorrow, you can leave and never speak of it again. No harm, no foul. But maybe he just wants someone to do things with, too.”

“So…you think he just wants to be friends?”

“Yeah, maybe. What’s wrong with that?”

* * *

He’s actually waiting for her at the top of the stairs, in front of the entrance.  _Great. No avoiding him now._

Once Emma climbed them, Killian flicked his wrist towards her. “Your ticket, milady.”

She glowered at him. “I can buy my own admission, you know.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you can do anything you set your mind to. But I said I’d make last night up to you, and I meant it.”

“Thanks,” she said grudgingly, snatching it out of his hand.

After a glance at the map, she started walking towards the hall that had the Expressionism exhibit. Emma was excited enough that she almost didn’t mind that a strange British stripper was shadowing her. Van Gogh, Kandinsky, and everyone in between; Killian Jones was _not_ going to ruin this.

He kept a pretty even pace with her, until Emma lingered in front of a Cézanne. Killian backtracked from the painting he’d begun to move onto. “Problem, love?”

“No…he was just a favorite of mine in my art history classes. I haven’t seen so much of his work in an exhibit in years.”

Killian took a step back, squinting at the thick, uneven table outline and colorful blobs of fruit on the canvas. “Paul Cézanne. Often thought of as the father of the Post-Impressionist movement. His fractured form style didn’t go over too well with the bloody Salon, yet his experiments in geometric simplification inspired the Cubists who came after him.”

He turned to Emma, and looked quickly back at the painting to hold his laugh in. Her astonishment was evident; she was completely goggle-eyed.

“You…you _know_ about art?!”

He gave a very affected shrug. “What’s this, love? Did you think I was just a devastatingly handsome face that rips off a bobby costume in his spare time?”

“A what?”

“Bobby…a British policeman.”

She looked down. “Oh, duh. I know I’ve heard that before.” She looked back up at him curiously. “But really—how’d you know all that?”

Killian held his arm out, and she took it almost like she was in a trance. “You aren’t the only one who took art at university, lass. I’m a bit of a woodworker in my free moments.”

“No shit!” she exclaimed, hurrying them along when a few pointed glares came their way.

“Shall we continue?” he asked, sweeping out his other hand to encompass the next room.

“Absolutely.”

* * *

They emerged from the museum in late-afternoon, the June sun still blazing overhead, so Killian led them to an Irish pub a couple blocks away for what he called ‘the best iced Irish coffee in this bloody city’. Once they were settled in, he turned on his stool to give Emma an appraising look. She thought she was a stealthy one, no doubt, but he’d certainly noticed those furtive glances his way ever since he’d made his little show-off lecture over the Cézanne, as well as a few comments he gave on other works throughout the day as well.

“Out with it, lass,” Killian said, looking back to his drink. “What’s eating you?”

“Wh—what? What do you mean?”

“You’re practically boring a bloody hole in the side of my head. Something I can help you with?”

She exhaled loudly. “No. I actually—okay, I don’t do this very often, Jones, so treasure it: I want to apologize. I misjudged you.”

He raised one of those bushy brows at her. “Don’t be _too_ quick to backtrack, love. Maybe I only knew those facts because I’m an international art forger, and a stripper-slash-container cargo loader is my cover.”

“You’re not, wise-ass. I can tell when people are lying to me.”

“Well, that’s a handy skill to have. So if I told you I had a godawful time of it with you today—“

Emma blushed as she answered. “You didn’t even try with that one. Lie.”

“Aye,” he grinned at her. “Completely.”

* * *

“Well, I just wanted to let you know you were right,” was how Emma began as soon as Elsa answered the phone.

“About?”

“ _You_ know. The strip—Jones. Killian.”

“ _Oh_. Had a good time, then?”

“He’s…full of surprises.” She paused for a second. “He mentioned that he’s kinda an artist, too. Woodworking. And he knew a lot about what was in the show.”

“Well,” Elsa said carefully, “sounds like you have a handful of things in common. Going to hang out again?”

“No…we didn’t talk about it. I don’t think so. This was just a one-time thing.”

Elsa paced around her small kitchen after they’d said their goodbyes, glanced out the window.

“Come on, Killian Jones,” she murmured, a furrow appearing across her forehead as she tapped her fingers on the counter. “You don’t have much time.”


	4. The Introduction

Emma ran a rag under the faucet of the child-height sink, and began cleaning off the smudges of red, yellow, and blue tempera paint smeared all over the long tables.

“Bye, Miss Nolan!” One little girl straggler from the class came up and gave her a hug around the thigh before she raced out the door.

“Bye,” she returned softly, but her pupil was already long gone. She went back to scrubbing. It wasn’t much of a job, instructing an after-school art program four times a week, but it still felt like it lent her life some type of structure and made her feel not completely useless. She stopped suddenly as another bout of panic rose up, tightening her chest. If there was one thing Emma hated, it was being idle. She’d done her research, but it seemed like the Santa Barbara area, Montecito included, didn’t have much use for out-of-work artists who hadn’t displayed jack shit in the past several years. She really didn’t think she could bear some menial retail job (memories of nightmare customers from her job in college resurfacing), but equally, she didn’t think she could take Neal’s company 24/7 either, even while she was just getting to know her new surroundings. She frowned, started scouring angrily at a particular spatter of paint as she tried to push her guilty thoughts aside.

Emma was finally washing her own hands, when the ring of her phone made her jump. She wiped her hands on one of the smocks hanging behind the door, and answered.

“Emma. Busy?”

She rubbed between her eyes. “Can’t you greet someone like a normal person? And why’re you calling me?” It was Thursday, and Emma hadn’t heard from Killian since the museum outing on Sunday. Well, he’d mentioned having a full-time job in addition to the Hollywood Men gig, she was sure he’d been busy. Not that she had thought about him between then and now.

Instead of sounding offended, he laughed. “Despite your sterling social skills, I actually enjoyed your company the other day, love. And I thought maybe we could do it again.”

“Well, tonight won’t work out. I’m already going to the pier with my friends.”

“The ‘pier’? Am I missing out on something?”

“You know… concerts on the Santa Monica Pier every Thursday during summer…?”

“’Fraid I haven’t had the pleasure, lass,” he began, only to be interrupted by a loud outburst from Emma.

“What?! You’ve never been? How long’ve you lived in L.A., Englishman?”

“Near about three years—“

She pressed her palm to her eyes. _I’m going to regret this…_.“Okay, you know what, that’s—that’s just unacceptable. Learn your city, Jones. You’re joining us tonight.”

“Er, won’t your…your fellow not take too kindly to my presence?”

“He doesn’t get to pick my friends,” she scoffed. _No, Emma, just the whole rest of your life._

“Ah,” Killian started, and Emma braced herself for the slip-up she knew he’d caught. “I’m a friend now, am I?”

“You’re…a tolerable acquaintance.”

“Please, darling, you’re making me go red with the incessant flattery.”

“Shut it. Meet us at the entrance to the pier, 6pm….”

* * *

Emma and Elsa arrived at the pier first, having walked over from Emma’s place. Ruby got there after them with her on-again, off-again guy, Victor, and her half-wolf, half-husky dog, Clancy.

“Is _he_ coming?” Ruby forced out resentfully. Emma froze, stared at her like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. She turned to Elsa. “You told her about the museum and Killian?”

“No,” Elsa smirked, “but you just did.”

“Killian…Killian…” Ruby tapped her chin, until her eyes lit up suddenly. “Wait! The _stripper_?! The one who picked up my phone? Did you meet up again of your own free will?”

“What’s this?” Victor looked suddenly interested. “Are you getting it on with a stripper on the side? That’s hot.”

Ruby gave him a rough elbow in the ribs. “It’s a dude, baby.”

“Oh.” He looked slightly disappointed. “Well, I guess that’s still hot, compared to—“

“Neal!” Ruby interrupted, as the man in question came into view behind Emma. The phony enthusiasm that came over Ruby’s face was more than obvious; she looked more like she was baring her teeth than smiling. “I was _just_ asking Emma if we’d have the pleasure of your company tonight.”  Clancy glanced up at Neal, a low growl emanating from his throat.

“Keep that fucking mutt away from me,” he returned in greeting, “He always looks ready to take a bite out of my ass.” Emma sighed inwardly. Not this again, though at this point, she ought to just accept the bickering as inevitable.

“Don’t worry,” Ruby shot back, pleasant façade instantly gone. “He doesn’t eat rotten meat.”

“Guys!” Emma held up her hands. “Let’s cool it, all right?”

Neal snaked an arm around her waist, gave her hip a tight squeeze. “What’re we waiting for?”

“ _Who_ ,” Ruby corrected, a sneaky smile stealing onto her face. “We’re waiting for Killian.”

“Who the hell’s that?” He rounded on Elsa. “Did the old ice queen finally find a man who can break—“

“As a matter of fact,” Elsa broke in, keeping her expression completely placid, “Killian’s a friend of Emma’s.”

Neal looked down at Emma, frowning. “I haven’t heard that name before.”

“We, uh, haven’t been friends too long,” she mumbled. “We met at the same art exhibit.”

“Oh, one of those.”

She squinted at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just realizing it’s one of your weird hipster art friends.” Now it was clear; he felt like a potential threat had been neutralized. He was probably imagining a slight, twiggy guy in skinny jeans and thick-framed glasses. Ruby and Elsa’s soft giggling mirrored Emma’s thoughts: _Wait til he gets a load of the man_.

Almost like he’d been summoned by all the talk about him, Emma heard “Hello, lass,” on her other side, then there was Killian, straightening up to give a wave to the rest of the group. Goddammit, he had on a short-sleeved button down that perfectly matched his eyes, and tight black jeans that perfectly cupped his ass. He had to know what he did to the general female population, Emma thought grumpily.

“Um, excuse you, but that’s my girl you’re whispering to there, buddy,” Neal snapped, his grip around Emma’s waist tightening almost painfully. “Get lost.”

“Neal,” Emma said, wriggling out of his grasp, “ _this_ is Killian.”

“This—what?” Neal’s shocked face had Ruby clapping both hands over her mouth to contain the snort of laughter trying to escape. After shooting her a death stare, he turned back to Killian. “ _You’re_ the art nerd?”

Killian grinned. “Ah, I wouldn’t have expected Emma to describe me by any less glowing a term.”

“Can we move down to where the music is, finally?” Emma waved a hand towards them impatiently. “Killian, Ruby and Elsa and Victor and my—my fiancé, Neal.”

They began to walk across the planks of the pier, cutting through the crowd. “So you’re the lucky fellow this lovely lass has given her heart to?”

Neal snatched up Emma’s hand. “Yeah. So what?”

“I believe that was a compliment, moron,” Ruby remarked snidely.

“ _Guys_ ,” Emma warned again. “Just pretend that anytime you’re within a 20-foot radius of me, you’re in Switzerland. ‘Kay? Neutral ground here.”

“Fine,” they agreed reluctantly, everyone settling themselves against the rungs on the pier to listen to the bands.

* * *

“Liked that one, did you?” Killian purred into her ear as everyone started clapping, and Emma had to resist a shiver. God, that voice was like honey, especially at low volume.

“Yeah,” she managed, “I’m kinda a Pink Floyd fan, and these guys cover them really well. I’m a fan of a lot of those classic rock groups,” she added as an afterthought.

“Well, well, lass, you’re just full of surprises,” he said, gazing at her with something like wonder.

“That’s what I said about you,” she blurted, wanting to give herself a smack immediately after. Couldn’t she think things through for two seconds before they came out her mouth?

When she looked up, there was that pleased-looking face she fully expected. “Gossiping about me with your friends, love?”

“Not gossiping,” she protested, “discussing!”

“To-may-toe, to-mah-toe,” he chanted, gracing her with an infuriating smirk.

“What’s with all the muttering down there?” Neal tilted forwarded from his place on her right, sending a dubious glance their way.

“Just chatting about music, mate. Your lass has good taste.”

“You think? Eh, I never liked this old stuff much. Been trying to get the ol’ girl here into this century, but she refuses.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Neal, too bad Bieber isn’t considered enough of a classic yet for numerous cover bands.”

He deliberately ignored the jab, focused back on Killian, who’d leaned back with his elbows on the rung, his fitted shirt stretched tight across the hard planes of his chest and stomach.

“You work out, man?”

“Eh? Oh, er, not really.” Killian gave his shoulders a roll, sending his muscles flexing. “I lift heavy items all day, most days, though.”

“Yeah, uh…me too,” Neal said, then gave an exaggerated stretch of his arms over his head. “Still pretty hot out here, huh?” He reached behind his head and pulled his white T-shirt off over his head, freeing his beer belly and leaving him in only Hawaiian-flower printed board shorts. He gave his stomach a few proud pats, looking around at everyone with an arrogant sneer.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Elsa’s mouth dropped wide open, and Ruby and Victor were chewing their lips, trying not to laugh or comment.

Emma dropped her face into her hand. “Neal, for fuck’s sake….”

“What?” he demanded, shaking a finger in Killian’s direction, “My looks aren’t good enough for you with this pretty boy around?”

“Stop it, Neal,” Emma said, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking. “You’re only embarrassing yourself.”

He turned to face her, caging her against the rung with his arms, stomach pressing into hers. “So I’m embarrassing you now?” he seethed, “Some loyal wife you’ll be.”

“Yeah, you _are_ embarrassing,” Ruby broke in, unable to contain herself any longer after his last comment. “On the bright side, at least you’ve got the house-husband physique down pat already.”

Neal pivoted quickly, freeing Emma. “Listen up, you skank, I’ve had just about enough of—“

“Look, mate—“ Killian started, at the same time as Victor stepped forward. “Hey man, I’m not the violent type, but keep this up, and I—I’ll fight you.”

“Jesus Christ, _enough_!” Emma yelled. Other people were starting to turn to see what was going down, and she was over it. She leaned forward to snatch Clancy’s leash off Ruby’s wrist; it’d be a good excuse to get away from everyone, plus Clancy had started growling at Neal once he raised his voice at Ruby. She didn’t want to add a trip to the emergency room to their outing tonight. “I’m taking Clancy to do his business, _alone_. I’m fucking sick of this shit, so sort it out by the time I get back—without physical force,” she emphasized, looking at Victor. And without waiting for any kind of answer, she turned on her heel and stalked off the beach, marching towards the adjacent park.

* * *

She felt someone slide onto the bench next to her, far too close for comfort.

“I told you to leave me alone, Neal,” she said, continuing to stare at the ocean.

“Just me, love,” came Killian’s voice.

She looked over at him. “I’m sorry for—for all that. I’m surprised you haven’t gone running full speed away from us yet.

Feeling a hand around her shoulders, she started and was about to shrug him off, until he slowly began rubbing her right shoulder with his thumb, and it just felt so… relaxing.

“Don’t apologize, love. None of that was your fault, and I wouldn’t say anything against your friends, either. They’re just…defensive of you.” Now he glanced at her. “I was getting a wee bit perturbed myself, truth be told.”

She had no clue how to respond to that. Why should he feel any indignation on her behalf? They’d met while she was draping herself all over him on a public stage, and she’d started off with such a judgmental attitude towards him. Why would he see her as anything other than some snooty brat?

In the end, she skipped over that part of his comment. “It’s just tiring, you know, dealing with this whenever I get everyone together in one place. Ruby and Elsa have never liked Neal since—“ Emma cut herself off abruptly.

“Since?”

“Nothing. They…just haven’t liked him for a long time.”

His gaze narrowed. “I may not have your lie-detecting skills normally, but I find you quite the transparent read, love.” He turned back towards the water. “Nevertheless, I won’t pry. Not now.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, settling back ever so slightly against his arm. For a few minutes, they just sat, looking out at the waves, while Clancy nudged their knees for attention. He ended up dropping his head into Killian’s lap once Killian gave him a good ear-scratching.

Finally, Emma pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll text Elsa, see if the air’s cleared.”

He peered over her shoulder, so close she could feel some of his prickly stubble on her bare shoulder. “Have any of your work on there?”

“My work?”

“Your art, love.”

Her brow creased. “Are you actually interested?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Ever since you mentioned it the other day, I’ve been most curious.”

She gave a labored sigh. “Fine, I guess. It’s nothing special.” She looked down, started scrolling through her photos.

“What’s that?” Killian reached over and tapped to enlarge a picture. Not one she’d planned to stop on, but whatever. It was a picture from around four years ago, Emma posed next to one of her paintings in a gallery, her smile looking like it was about to split her face.

“Oh, my mom took that of me. It was at one of the last exhibitions I was part of.” She sat up a little straighter; he wanted a story, and she hadn’t really talked about any of this in years. She could give him a snippet. “It was the opening reception of my last group show at Bergamot Station.”

“It’s a big deal, having something up there, I gather?”

A side of her mouth quirked up. “Yeah. It was.”

He frowned, moved his fingers to magnify the photo even more. “Why does the label list you as ‘Emma Swan’?”

“Oh, that’s…that’s just some _nom de plume_ I chose.” She gave a small, one-shouldered shrug. “Artistic license.”

“As I said, love, you’re a terrible liar. But I like the moniker,” he said quickly, seeing an impending response on her tongue. “ _Swan_ ,” he rolled the word around. “Yes. It suits you.”

There were so many questions on his face, yet he just stood and offered her a hand to tug herself up with. “Shall we?”

She rose, tugging Clancy with her as she fell into step with Killian. He casually dropped his hand to the small of her back to steady her, and a ripple went up her spine at the warm contact from his fingers through her thin cotton shirt.

“Killian?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re a good listener.” She stopped short when her group came into view (Neal was gone, had probably stormed off in a huff). _God, she really shouldn’t be encouraging this…_. “Do you…do you want to hang out again…soon?”

“Nothing would delight me more…Swan.”


	5. The Sugar Rush

“ _Baaaby_ ,” Neal wheedled over the phone, “I don’t see what the big deal is. Just apologize, and—“

“I’m not apologizing, Neal. I didn’t do anything wrong. Seriously, it’s been almost two days now. Just let it go, or _you_ can personally call up my friends and beg for an apology.”

“I’m not speaking to that Lucas slag before the wedding, and after we move, hopefully never again.” He paused his tirade, drew a breath. “Can’t you kick her out of the wedding party?”

“No way. Ruby’s my oldest friend. Plus,” she added, knowing how much Mr. Gold Senior loved order, “she already has her dress and knows the wedding march formation. I’m _sure_ your father wouldn’t like it disrupted.”

“No,” he agreed sullenly. “I guess not.”

“Okay then.” She breathed out slowly. God, she wanted to wring his neck sometimes. Was that normal right before your wedding? What about months before it? “Still coming over to my parents’ place tonight? My mom wants your input on the decorations and theme she’s been working on.”

He sighed loudly, as though she’d asked him to take a rocket to the moon instead of a drive across town. “I guess. I still don’t get why your mom wants to fix up most of the details herself.”

“What’s wrong with that? She did the invitations too, and they looked amazing.”

“It’s all just so…homemade. Papa thought they looked shamefully low-budget.” Emma rolled her eyes; she could practically see his nose stuck up towards the sky when he parroted his father. And ‘Papa’ still? What was he, seven? She’d tried to gently tease him out of the nickname when they first got together, but he’d acted so offended, giving her the silent treatment until she took it back, that she never brought it up again.

“Well, how ‘bout you decide for yourself, hmm? Come over around six.”

* * *

“Well, big surprise. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, late again,” Regina remarked as she reclined on the couch, glass of red wine in hand.

Emma turned from where she was helping her mother put together a few plates of finger foods in the kitchen. “What do you mean? Neal didn’t mention anyone else coming.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said, sounding falsely upbeat. “Neal called, must’ve been right after confirming with you, honey, and asked if Rob—Mr. Gold—uh, his father could come, too.” Emma smiled, knowing her mother had as much trouble with deciding what to call the imposing man as she did.

“Like a good little boy,” Regina sneered, taking another sip.

“ _Mom_ ,” Emma pleaded. “Can you give her a two-drink maximum, or something? I don’t need her and Mr.—Neal’s dad at each other’s throats every time they meet.”

“Nobody tells me what to do!” Regina hollered from the living room, just as the doorbell rang.

“I’ve got it!” David said, bounding out from the bedroom, where Emma noticed he’d changed into a dress shirt. Emma wasn’t sure of the specifics his contract with Gold stated, but he never took pains with his appearance with other clients. It rankled her that Gold must have her father nervous enough about his standing with the project that he felt he had to throw in extra touches unrelated to business, even with the two families about to be joined. Apparently he gave no quarter to almost-kin.

“Miss Nolan,” Gold said smoothly after David opened the door, taking her hand and bending down with the help of his gold-tipped cane to kiss her knuckles. She suppressed a shudder at the cold trickle snaking down her spine. Ugh, the man gave her the creeps.

“Hey, babe,” Neal said, walking past Emma and giving her a smack on the rump. He stopped in front of Mary Margaret. “Hey, Ma!” he exclaimed, grabbing her around the waist and dipping her almost to the floor. “Miss me? David, man,” he called, “if this one were twenty years younger, I might be fighting you for her hand instead going for your daughter. More cushion for—” David cleared his throat pointedly.

“Oh dear!” Mary Margaret giggled, as Neal gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek, and righted her again. Emma didn’t even have to look behind her; she could _feel_ Regina’s contempt aimed at Neal like a beacon. She was pretty sure her father wasn’t pleased either, but he kept a neutral expression on for Gold’s benefit.

Neal turned then. “Hellooooo, Gran-Gran Mills,” he simpered in that condescending tone he reserved for older people that Emma (and she was sure everyone else) hated, making for Regina with arms spread wide, lips pursed.

“Oh drats, I’ve just lost an earring!” Regina announced, dropping to her hands and knees so suddenly, Neal was left giving a loud, wet smack to thin air. He teetered for a minute as he almost tripped over her prostrate form. Then, still bent over, she crawled from the room and down the hallway, not to be seen again that evening.

Mary Margaret gave a nervous laugh. “Shall I show you gentlemen what I— _we’ve_ been working on?”

* * *

Of course, Gold hated everything. For all her extensive preparations, Mary Margaret was remarkably, annoyingly flexible with his new “suggestions”, no doubt having to do with his current deal with David. Emma was the one who had to put her foot down in certain areas on her behalf; she didn’t care how much Gold was paying for. Yes, the swan placecards were staying; she hadn’t cramped her hand after hours of calligraphy for nothing. No, she was not changing the wedding colors—cream and light green, the same shade of peridot as her mother’s wedding ring. Gold reluctantly acquiesced to those, mainly because there wasn’t much time left to change them.

“Well, this DJ choice is terrible—I’ll arrange for a string quartet. And the flowers, the corsages, the centerpieces—no, no, no. And the minister’s a pompous fool….Nothing to worry about, I’ll have a wedding planner I know fix this mess.”

Emma tried to keep her scowl in check. “Isn’t it a bit late to consult a wedding planner?”

Gold smiled that lethal, reptilian smile that gave Emma chills. “Oh, this young lady owes me a favor. She’ll be happy to do it. Gratis, of course.”

 _Happy to do it_ was something Emma’d bet money on the poor woman was not.

Gold continued, folded his hands carefully. “And what of the cake?”

“Oh, we’re actually headed to go cake taste tomorrow,” Emma said, gesturing between herself and Mary Margaret. “Neal’s coming, too.”

“I am?” Neal looked completely perplexed.

Emma turned on him, tamping down her frustration. No need for a fight in front of their parents. “I told you about this _weeks_ ago—and you agreed to come.”

“Ugh, babe, you I just don’t care about those kinds of details. I mean, I don’t even eat cake. Why don’t you just make it a girls’ day?”

“Very well,” Gold said, giving his son a hard look. “Your fiancée will find one she likes, and I’ll deem it acceptable after the fact.”

Emma was feeling so drained by the discussion, she didn’t even bother arguing that point. “You know, everyone, I’m sorry, but I feel a headache coming on, and I should really get some rest before eating all that sugar tomorrow.”

She mumbled a general goodbye, then stumbled to the front door, when she felt a pair of hands turning her around.

“I’m sorry, princess. This whole thing seems like a circus right now, but I’m sure it’ll all pay off on the actual day.” David drew her into a hug so tender, tears sprang to her eyes. He pulled back, holding her by the shoulders, taking in her furious, flushed complexion. “Don’t let Gold get you down.”

* * *

Even after returning home, Emma couldn’t stop her restless pacing. It was too early to sleep, and she didn’t want to bother Ruby or Elsa; she’d be seeing them tomorrow anyway. She picked up her phone, staring down at it for awhile.  _This is a bad idea_ , she thought even as she pressed ‘call’.

“Swan?” Loud music thumped in the background.

“Hi, Jones. Oh shit, are you—are you working?”

“Don’t worry about it, lass. But to what do I owe the pleasure? Surely you must have better plans for a Saturday night than ringing me up.”

“No, not really. I just had a meeting for the wedding, and now I’m tired and cranky and—hey! When are you off? Do you wanna come over?”

“Well, that’s a ringing endorsement for your company,” he laughed.

“Shut up. I’m giving you my address. “

“I’ll come over after my set.”

About 45 minutes later, a knock startled Emma from the TV show she’d been blankly watching. She wiped her clammy palms on her dress as she went to answer the door. _What was I thinking? Too late to rescind the invite now._ She opened the door a crack. “Hey.”

“Hi.” She was irrationally relieved to see he looked as unsure as she felt. “Come on in. Want some tea? I was just about to make some.” _Stop babbling, dammit!_

“Sounds lovely,” he said, moving to her kitchen island and perching on a stool.

She moved back to the stove, busied herself with the teapot. “Do you want Earl Grey or—“ she said, turning around halfway and bumping right into Killian’s chest. “Oof!”

“Swan,” he asked, brows knitted, “are you feeling alright?” He reached over and rubbed her shoulder the way he had at the pier.

“Yeah, fine, it’s just—“

Her phone rang then, and she put it on speaker while she jumped up to kneel on the counter to get down two cups, relieved for the interruption. “Hey, Mom.”

“Feeling better, sweetie?”

“Yep. Just a…long day.”

“Don’t worry about, you know, _him_. We’re getting whichever cake you want.”

“It’s fine. I don’t even care now.”

“Don’t be grumpy. Are Ruby and Elsa still coming with us?”

“Yep, last I heard.”

“Oh good! I’ve missed those girls—“ Mary Margaret cut off with a muffled sound, missing a beat, before she moved back closer to the phone. “Um, Emma? Would it be alright if Regina came along?”

Emma groaned. “Mom, you know she’s going to piss off every bakery we go to. Do you really want everyone at the wedding to get food poisoning?”

There was a scuffling sound in the background, then Regina’s voice came through nearly yelling, trying to speak over Mary Margaret. “Is she trying to shut me out of this? Well, you can just remind her who tended to the mess that time she had to be re-diapered in the middle of the Olive Garden after she pooped her pan—“

Emma yelped, “Goddammit!”, scrambling for the phone so fast she slipped, rapping one knee on the kitchen cabinet as she hit the ‘speaker’ button. Not fast enough, of course. She could hear Killian snickering behind her, and she turned to give him a dirty look as she held the phone to her ear. He was doubled over, holding onto the counter, as his shoulders shook from the effort of trying to hold his laughter in.

“ _Emma_ ,” Mary Margaret was saying. “How many times do I have to ask you to reign in the language? If not for me, then for your grandmother’s sake.”

She snorted at that. Regina probably had the dirtiest mouth of anyone she knew; she was pretty sure it was Regina’s bad influence that had caused her to be written up in middle school so many times for ‘cursing and back-talk’.

“Please indulge her, honey. You know how excitable Regina gets about desserts.”

“Fine, fine. Just—put a lid on her, please. I mean, she was on speaker and I have company over, for Christ’s—for goodness’ sakes! Jesus, she sure can hold a grudge.”

She finalized things with Mary Margaret, then turned a dangerous look on Killian. “Not a word.”

He held up his hands. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Swan,” he said, mirth still dancing in his eyes.

“Yeah, well, just so you know, that was a long time ago. A long, _long_ time ago.”

He raised a brow. “Good to know you’re not incontinent, lass. Though I suspect if you were, the giant padding poking out from those little sundresses you’re so fond of would have been a dead giveaway by now.”

She gave him a light punch on the arm. “You’re an idiot.”

Once the tea was poured, Emma sat down across from Killian. He sipped his silently, fiddling with the braided edge of the placemat.

“Problem, Jones?”

“No, just thinking. What does a cake tasting entail?”

“Tasting cake,” she said sarcastically before continuing. “Truthfully, it’ll be really boring—just finding what flavor of cake I want, that other people are going to eat, for a single day in my life. Although I’m sure Regina making the pastry chefs cry will keep us on our toes for the day.”

“What if I was there to…alleviate the boredom?”

“Are you inviting yourself along on my cake tasting, Jones?”

He looked up, straight at her, teasing tone gone. “Only if you want me.”

Her fingers started to play with her own placemat. “I do want you. I mean, I want you to come. I mean, to come with us tomorrow!” _Good God, Emma, shut up!_

He grinned. “You’re quite captivating when you’re flustered, love. But you’ve made a wise choice; I’ve been known to be an enthusiastic confection connoisseur. Though it sounds like I shouldn’t get in this Regina character’s way.”

“Keep that in mind, and you’ll be just fine.”

* * *

Ruby and Elsa’s elation at noticing Neal wasn’t in tow with Emma turned into ecstatic grins when they glimpsed Killian through the windshield. They cornered her on the driver’s side of her old yellow VW Beetle while Killian was still getting out.

“Well well, what have we here, Elsa?”

“Looks to me like Emma’s brought that sexy stripper she met last week to one of her wedding prep activities, Ruby.”

“Knock it off,” Emma growled, “He just happened to be over last night when my—“, she stopped, but knew it was too late when she saw their lips form into matching “O”s. She’d never seen a more welcome sight than when Mary Margaret and Regina walked out from inside the bakery before her friends could start grilling her.

“Emma, they’ve just set everything up, and it looks—oh, hello! Who’s this?” Mary Margaret took Killian’s outstretched hand while fixing Emma with a puzzled set to her forehead.

“This is my—Killian. He’s a—an Otis friend. Killian, my mom and my, uh…Regina.”

“Ma’am,” Killian murmured, raising Mary Margaret’s hand to brush his lips against the back of it.

“Well, aren’t you a gentleman! You know Emma from college?”

“We met through our mutual love of the arts, yes,” he said smoothly, and Emma gave his arm a grateful squeeze.

“I’m so sorry, Killian, she must have mentioned you before, but you know, mother of the bride, I’ve just been running around like a chicken with its head cut off lately,” she exclaimed with a giddy laugh. “Shall we all go inside?”

“Yes, lets,” Emma said quickly, not liking the suspicious look on Regina’s face.

Of course, it didn’t take long for the shoe to drop, Emma knew from the telltale predatory gleam she’d learned to read since childhood. “How sweet,” Regina declared as they walked through the doors, giving Emma an insincere pat on the shoulder. “I’ve always said every girl should have a gay best friend for that different perspective.”

“He’s not—“

“I’m not—“

“ _Oh_ ,” she said with an affected air. “My mistake. I just couldn’t imagine why a straight man would subject himself to something like this, no matter how close of _friends_ he is with the bride.”

Killian shrugged, gave Regina a cheeky smirk. “I’m afraid my sweet tooth knows no bounds, madam. Shall we?” He pressed his hand lightly against Emma’s back to lead her inside.

* * *

All in all, the day had gone off without a hitch, despite Neal’s last-minute cancellation. Mary Margaret insisted Killian stand in for the “male opinion”, and ended up getting so tipsy with all the free champagne the bakeries plied them with, that by the last couple places, she insisted on personally feeding him bites off the fork, then waiting with baited breath for his verdict. Emma couldn’t believe what a good sport he was about the whole thing, and truthfully, her stomach hurt from all the laughing she’d done over her mother turning Killian into a cake-tasting guinea pig. Despite the few well-placed ankle kicks she had to deliver to Ruby and Elsa whenever they’d shoot her an eyebrow-waggling look and Regina’s expected dourness, she was actually having fun.

“Made any decisions yet, Swan?” he asked, pushing a small square of red velvet in front of her.

She picked at the cake. “Well, Regina will definitely insist on this one as one of the tiers; she _loves_ red velvet. I don’t care, if it keeps her quiet. But devil’s food has to be one layer, at least.”

“Sounds reasonable. You are the bride, after all.”

“That doesn’t have as much power as you may think.”

He frowned. “Got some rich uncle pulling the strings, love?”

“Worse. I don’t…really want to talk about it.” She glanced up at him, then laughed. “You have a big old glob of frosting right here,” she said, gesturing to the side of her face.

“Do I now?” His tongue crept out to lick the speck of sweetness from the corner of his mouth, not breaking their gaze.

“You’re—“ Emma didn’t know what it was, but she just couldn’t bring herself to call him ‘disgusting’ this time, like she had at the bar. “You’re…a mess!” she finished, reaching out and swiping a stripe of frosting diagonally across his face. His eyes widened in surprise at first, then he gave a laugh and reached up remove some of it with his index finger, and eat it. Emma took another fingerful from the sample, and brought it to her mouth as well, before someone clearing their throat made her glance over her shoulder. Regina was staring at them, lips drawn back in scorn.

“What?” Emma mumbled around the thumb in her mouth.

“Oh, for the love of—are we here to taste cakes for your wedding or for your tenth birthday party?”

“Regina,” Mary Margaret warned from a few feet away, “don’t bother them; they’re just having fun. Come have some coffee!”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Regina came to a stop right between them at the table, looking at Killian. “Fetch me a cup, will you, Sweet Cheeks?”

He didn’t even flinch, getting up and pulling his chair back for her. “I’d be honored to assist Emma’s gran.”

She snorted. “I’m nobody’s gran, Hot Pants. Now scoot! And clean your face off, too.” She took his vacated seat, fixing Emma with a withering stare, which Emma did her best to return. They sat in a stalemate for a minute before Emma caved.

“Alright, what’s your problem? You’ve been shooting daggers at us from the moment I introduced Killian.”

“Well now, I thought I knew how to toy with the boys back in the day, but you’re a crueler mistress than I ever was.”

Emma folded her arms. “What the hell are you talking about, Regina?”

The older woman jerked her head towards the other room. “That man is utterly, completely besotted with you. And you bring him along on your wedding errands to that—that bumbling simpleton?”

“He is not, we’re just friends. He knew from the beginning; we met at my hen party.”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “I thought you met at college?”

 _Dammit_. Emma waved her hands furiously in the air. “It doesn’t matter! There’s nothing…weird going on here.”  

Regina stood up as she saw Killian returning from the bathroom. “A last fling before your wedding is all well and good, Emma, but mark my words—if you keep this up, you’ll both get hurt. And from those doey eyes he’s been sending your way, I’d wager he’ll probably be the more worse for wear.”


	6. The Heart-to-Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I recommend for the jukebox scene to youtube "Couldn't Get it Right" by Climax Blues. It's the song I imagined playing. :)

_Flick_. Another thin wood shaving fell from Killian’s whittling knife onto the newspaper below his desk. He was making a birdsong whistle, or trying to; it was his third attempt that day. His thoughts were definitely _not_ cooperating with the activity. Bloody hell, he was in over his head. In over his head, without an inner tube, scuba mask, or even those damned child arm floaties in sight. Liam had always said he was too much of a bright-eyed romantic for his own good. But that was long ago; he didn’t even know what his brother would make of his transformation over the past few years. First, the careening around London like some rabid dog, dropping out of University, drinking until he blacked out, fucking any woman that gave in to his advances (and the types he’d gone for usually did), crashing his car. He knew grief could be an excuse for only so long, Liam would be disgusted at how long he’d dragged it out, and so Killian had done the cowardly thing and left the country. About eighteen months of backpacking and taking odd jobs across America, he’d landed a job aboard an oil rig in Alaska, and after another few months of that, he’d been ready for the comfort of basic amenities again. Hey, Los Angeles was supposed to be where _everyone’s_ dreams came true, wasn’t it?  And he hadn’t had any lofty ideas of becoming some actor or model, like most of those bright-eyed young people he saw walking around Downtown or Hollywood; Killian was just looking for a place to heal, however slowly.

Cargo container loading was labor-intensive work, as most of his jobs had been, but being in a stable location and job for a couple years now had finally afforded him some peace, and he’d even let up on the drinking. Up until a week and some change ago, Killian had been perfectly content in his daily routine: work at the container yard, strip for a G-string of extra dollars, come home and maybe do some wood carving if inspiration hit. He even thought he might be content to live out his days like this, in some self-imposed Zen frame of mind, a pseudo-monk who just happened to rip his pants off up the middle a few nights a week. Until a blonde-haired, green-eyed vixen had swept into the club one night without a care in the world, and certainly no care for Killian Jones’ peace of mind.

Sure, there were always lasses who’d been submitted for a dance by their friends, and either they started to passively enjoy the experience (nervous giggling was a typical indicator) or sit there frozen as a statue. But not the Swan girl. She’d tried that impassive mask, but a little baiting on his part, and afterwards Killian wasn’t sure which one of them had received the show. That long, golden hair flipping over her shoulder, that magnificent arse grinding tauntingly against his cock. Killian was proud of the fact that after his first few routines as a stripper, he’d managed to keep his ship’s mast in check, but Swan had pushed his resolve dangerously close to the edge. Indeed, he’d had to take matters into his own hands, literally, after work that night. And then to find that phone…well, the universe had a sick sense of humor where he was concerned, had figured that out years ago, and that only reinforced his conclusion. He was sure Liam would only shake his head at him now: Cleaned of his vices, only to be falling for a woman who couldn’t be more unavailable if she walked around in a white dress and matching veil already. And to _that_ bloody prat, too. He tossed the latest ruined whistle at the wall across from him.

Almost as though on cue, his phone vibrated with a now-familiar number; he leaned over to catch it from falling off his work table.

“Swan?”

“What’re you doing later, Killian?”

 _So he was Killian now. Interesting_. “Nothing that I’d care about if it spontaneously burst into flames,” he remarked, eying the whistle. “Why, love? Do you need me to taste more food for you?”

She laughed. “Not exactly. Just wondered if you’d like to meet up for Happy Hour later? You could meet me at my place, decide where to go from there.”

She wasn’t making things easy at all, but he felt powerless to say no.

* * *

“I’ll still never forgive you for making me wear a yellow-green dress, you know,” Ruby remarked, pushing the snapshots of them at their final fitting around her Cobb salad and back at Emma.

“I don’t think it looks bad,” Elsa said demurely, admiring her image.

Ruby snorted. “It’s cause you’re blonde. It makes _me_ look like some pasty vampire.”

“You can’t wear red to every special occasion in your life, Ruby,” Emma said jovially, tucking the photos back in her purse.

“Except for this, I will. Just watch me.”

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Elsa teased. “Is there another engagement on the horizon? Someone getting more serious with Mr. We’re-Just–Having-Fun Victor?”

“Nope. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Although,” she continued, giving Emma a beady glance, “sometimes things should just stay broken.”

Emma put down her iced tea, feeling tension start to crackle in the air. “Are we really going to start this again?”

“It’s never stopped!” Ruby cried, then lowered her voice. “Not too late to cut ‘n run. I mean, you have a guy who’s ten times better than Richie Rich making puppy eyes at you now. But I’d be saying this even if Killian wasn’t in the picture.”

“ _Killian_? What does he have to do with anything? We’re just friends,” Emma protested. God, that was starting to sound like a broken record.

“Oh really? Tell me, Elsa, do you know of many friendships that start off with a hot guy shaking his tight booty in a girl’s face? That tight…tight…booty…” Ruby gazed off into space, her fingertips flexing slightly on the tabletop.

“A- _hem_!” Emma snapped her fingers in front of Ruby’s glazed-over expression. She was more annoyed with herself than Ruby. Why should she care if other people were imagining his ass? It wasn’t anything to her.

Ruby shook off her trance. “Don’t play dumb with me, woman. I’ve known you too long. A guy who looks at you the way he does when you aren’t even dating won’t _ever_ step out on you.”

Emma clenched her fists in her lap. “Neither has Neal. I mean, not since we got back together. We’ve worked through everything.”

Ruby leaned forward. “What about those other times you dumped him? Maybe there wasn’t as much evidence as the last time, but when has your internal lie detector steered you wrong?”

“I _don’t_ want to discuss this anymore,” Emma said, leaning back in the booth and looking off to the side.

Elsa picked up where Ruby’d left off as though Emma hadn’t said a word. “If everything’s forgiven, why haven’t you started painting again? The way he treated you killed your drive, and no one can convince me otherwise. And Ruby’s argument notwithstanding, let’s look at the facts,” she said, coolly ticking off points on her fingers. “Neal’s rude and abrasive. He acts like he owns you. He _cheated_ on you. And on a completely shallow level, he doesn’t even compare to—“

“What the hell is this, an intervention? I’ve made my bed, and I’m lying in it. Decision’s been made.”

Elsa looked at her sympathetically, reached over and clasped her hand over Emma’s, while Emma steeled herself not to flinch. Some friends; she was getting completely tag-teamed here. She was not in any kind of mood to think back on catching Neal sneaking around with that trashy waitress again. Not that she ever was.

“It’s never too late. And we’re behind you, you know.”

Emma stood up shakily, glaring at them. “You have a funny way of showing support. I have to get ready for class.” She turned to stomp out of the restaurant with as much dignity as she could muster, ignoring their protests behind her.

“C’mon Emma, don’t be like that!”

“Just _talk_ to us! Come back!”

But Emma pushed out into the lunch crowd headed back to their offices, blinking back angry tears from her eyes, and taking out her phone. At least she had a new friend to have easy, uncomplicated conversations with.

* * *

The beauty of having a motorcycle in L.A. was cutting through hellish rush hours on weekdays in nearly half the time. Killian was far too early to meet Emma yet, but she had noted the area she worked before. She struck him as someone who wasn’t all that keen on surprises, but there was one way to find out for sure. He pulled up into the parking lot of the recreation center, and only had to wait about fifteen minutes before the doors burst open, and children and instructors headed out for end of the day, Emma included. He saw when she spotted him, and the furious look on her face almost had him hopping his bike again to take off.

She marched up. “What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

 _So, that would be a_ no _on the surprises_. Killian felt a bit unsure at the heated tone of her voice, but stood his ground. “I was early, I knew where you worked…what’s wrong with meeting you at your place of business?”

“I _told_ you we’d meet my apartment. And I never told you where I worked.”

“Well, ‘scuse me, you’ve mentioned the block before, and I took a wild guess you didn’t work at the auto mechanic next door. Didn’t think it’d be a problem. What’s the issue here, darling?”

She ignored the question, taking a step back and spreading her arms. “Well, Jones, you’ve found me out. Congratulations.”

Killian looked around the parking lot of the rec center, bewildered. He crossed his arms, took a step forward, which sent Emma into a mirrored retreating one. He wasn’t at all pleased at whichever trigger had demoted him back to “Jones”.

“Could you please give me a bloody clue what’s going on?”

She was looking uncomfortable now, like she’d started a confession she couldn’t take back. “Never mind.”

“Oh no, Swan. I think I deserve an explanation after all that.” He took one last step, effectively backing Emma against her car. She looked up at him, visibly deflating.

“Okay…okay. Haven’t had to go through this one for awhile.” She glanced down at her hands, tugged at a hangnail. “I’m…actually, all I do for work is instruct little-kid art classes here a few afternoons a week. I haven’t had a steady job in years, and my parents had to start helping me with my bills and rent. My painting career is as good as dead, my inspiration is dead…There!” She threw up her hands. “I’m a spoiled, lazy—“

Killian reached out suddenly and grabbed her arm, yanking her towards him. “Stop that, Swan,” he said roughly. “I won’t tolerate anyone speaking of you like that, even if you’re the one doing it.” She stared up at him incredulously, and Killian wondered if he was the first one who hadn’t let her finish that ludicrous pity party speech. Swan needed to get a load off; there was a whole lot of fury swimming behind those wide green eyes this evening. He slid an arm around her shoulders.

“Come, Swan. I know just what you need.”

“I thought we were going to Happy Hour?”

“Oh, we are. But not anywhere around here. I know just the place to lighten foul moods—“ He placed a finger lightly over her lips as they started to part, no doubt to argue that observance. “Leave your vehicle; we’re taking mine.”

Emma turned to where he indicated.

“That’s…that’s a motorcycle.”

He cocked a brow. “Very astute, Swan. I’m sure that attention to detail is what inclined you towards the fine arts.”

She huffed out a breath, rolled her eyes. “I just mean that I’ve, er…never been on one before.”

Killian swung his leg over the Yamaha, holding out a smaller helmet than his.

“First time for everything, Swan.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Oh, I’m sure, if you’re the type that thinks you can text or make calls with one hand while holding onto me with the other.” He gave her an infuriating wink. “Hop on, love.”

She climbed on in back gingerly, as though she were about to ride a giant porcupine. “I have to…hold onto you?”

Killian reached behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle before she could make another protest. “That’s right. And, you know, don’t be afraid to _really_ get into it.” He gave a half-turn to grin at her. “Though I already know you have no reservations about _that_. Just don’t get too saucy; I do hold our lives in my hands, after all.”

“I’m in prime tickling position, sir. Another word, and don’t think I won’t use it to my advantage.”

* * *

He took them back to his stomping grounds in Long Beach, pulling up to a flickering neon sign that read “Alex’s”.

Emma gave a disdainful look around as they walked inside. “You’re pretty partial to these old hole-in-the-walls, aren’t you?”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, Swan,” Killian said lightly, steering them to a back corner booth, covered in cracked vinyl. “I’d’ve thought you’d learned your lesson about that by now.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, chastised.

Still being early evening, the place wasn’t very busy. A redhead with a spiky haircut, tight dress, and covered in tattoos came over.

“Hey, Killian! What can I get for you and…your friend?” She gave Emma a thorough once-over with an unimpressed demeanor.

“Claws in, Lara. I’ll have the usual, and you can get Emma a…?”

“Gin and tonic,” Emma finished tightly.

“Something wrong, Swan?” Killian asked, amused, once they were alone again. Really, every emotion that flowed through her was written all over her face.

“Nope. She seems to know you well.”

His mouth stretched in a slow, lazy smile as he turned towards her, throwing his arm over the back of the booth. “Jealous, love? I certainly wouldn’t mind, but I believe bigamy is outlawed in the State of California, and I have too much pride to be someone’s pool boy.”

“Do you have a constant headache from straining to come up with such well-crafted, snark-filled responses to everything? I was _just_ … making an observation.”

Killian sighed. He really hadn’t wanted to get into anything heavy, made it a point not to with anyone, really, but Emma had revealed a part of herself earlier that she was obviously not proud about, however reluctantly. Perhaps some tit for tat was in order.

“If you “just” must know, I used to come here quite frequently. Well, more than I do now. I had…somewhat of a drinking problem.” He paused as Lara came to set their drinks in front of them, bustling away without a word. Emma looked concernedly at his glass of rum.

“Relax, Swan, I don’t anymore. I’ve got it under control, at least.”

“How…how’d you do that?”

He dug his short nails into the already sorely nicked and grooved wooden table. He really, _really_ hadn’t planned on this. Only Will, from the yard, knew this about him, and even that confidence had taken over a year and copious rum one night, to get dragged out of him.

He gave what he hoped looked like a casual shrug, and raised the glass to his lips. “I just thought about what my brother would think about the path I was headed down. The drinking was only a part of it. Wasn’t pretty, Swan.”

“And what does your brother have to say now?”

“Nothing. He was in the British Navy, and was sent to Afghanistan. Killed on a mission six years ago. After that, let’s just say I went a mite ballistic. But I suppose that’s wont to happen when you lose the only family you have left, and they were blown to such bits, there was nothing to bury.”

“Oh, Killian…” he felt the touch of her thumb smoothing over his jaw, and he relaxed fractionally. He hadn’t realized how tightly it was clenched.

“I’m sorry I pried,” she said, dropping her hand.

He smiled weakly, pressing his eyes closed for a moment. “Why don’t you take up the chatter for a minute, Swan?”

“Of course,” she agreed, signaling for the waitress and ordering herself another drink. They sat rather uncomfortably for a moment more, until Emma took a courage gulp from her fresh drink and burst out: “So, what do you want to know?” Unconsciously, she’d started to play with his hand closest to her, not exactly holding it, more like stroking. Killian tried to stay as still as possible while she ran her pale, smooth fingertips lightly over his tanned, roughened ones as though she were reading his palm. Maybe it was the two gin and tonics, maybe it was the poor lighting, maybe it was their mutual reveals, whatever it was, he liked this more open Swan, and he vowed not to ruin it.

“Hmm, anything?”

She took another gulp. “Sure.”

“Right then, something I’ve been wondering about for the past week or so…why ‘Swan’ as your stage name?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got plenty of time.”

She looked down, fiddling with the cocktail napkin corner. “When I was about…four or five, my parent signed me up for ballet classes. Every girl wants to dance, right? I mean, to be fair, I actually _did_. And so I practiced and all, and after a few months, it was time for our first performance. They gave me the lead in our little pee-wee version of _Swan Lake_.”

“And you blew them away.”

She laughed. “The complete opposite. I guess I’ve blocked out the memory of it, but apparently I got up there, and had such a bad case of stage fright, I froze in the middle of the stage. I guess I just stood there, glaring at the audience until my mother ran up and carried me off, stiff as a board.”

Killian’s laugh erupted, loud and hearty, from the bottom of his stomach. He could imagine a small Emma, golden tendrils falling in her face, furious expression. He was sure he’d gotten a dose of the adult version of that look the night they met. “Oh—oh, dear,” he gasped, “I’m sorry, lass. But I can just imagine you, an angry, defiant little baby Swan—what’re those called anyway?”

“A cygnet?”

“Ah yes, that’s the one. So, you call yourself that now to make up for your nursery school shame?”

“Nope. Be patient,” she scolded. “Anyways, I guess the shame hit later, and I cried all weekend from the embarrassment. My parents weren’t having any luck cheering me up, until my dad had an epiphany. My grandfather’d just died, my dad was taking over, and they were doing a kind of re-haul of the business. He came to me, and said I was going to be Nolan Construction’s new logo. I didn’t understand until he showed me an outline of the prototype. It was a swan, he said, and I’d always be the Swan Princess to them, no matter what.”

Killian’s smile at her was tender. “That’s really quite sweet.”

“Yeah,” she said, grinning softly at the memory. “And I figured it was as good a pseudonym as any, like a secret link to my family, even when I was in professional circles.

She began shredding at the napkin again. “Killian?”

“Aye?”

“Can I get your opinion? I told that story to my, uh…Neal, and he didn’t laugh. He said it was an early example of failing to commit to my goals. He said I’m wandering through life without direction—“ Her eyes brimmed with tears, and Killian was quick to intercede before she shut down. The fool might have family money, but from what he’d gathered at the pier, and from whispers between Swan’s friends at the tasting, he was a massive deadbeat. The more he learned both firsthand and secondary about that prick, the more Killian wanted to jump him from behind and grind his nose into the dirt, as though he were still on the primary school playground.

“Listen to me, Swan,” Killian broke in. Even in the bar’s dim lighting, the two angry spots of color appear on his cheeks were highly visible. “I have to stop you there. I find that utter bollocks coming from a man whose got no real job, no career, and still living with his _father_ at—how old is he?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Bloody hell, it’s worse than I thought. Swan, listen. You may not have any kind of job you’re particularly pleased with right now, but you’re still an artist. Your career’s hit a snag, is all, but it’s still there, waiting for you.” He wiped an errant tear from her cheek lightly with the pad of his thumb. “And I’m confident your muse will return.”

“You think?”

“I bloody _know_.”

She gave a small laugh. “You’re very succinct.”

Killian shrugged. “Can’t say I’ve ever had much tolerance for plumping the truth, love.” He looked up, scanned the bar. “Now, how about we lighten the mood? I see they have a jukebox. How about showing me if you have any of those dance moves left in you?“

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I never joke about dancing to classic rock, Swan. Join me?”

She rolled her eyes, but slid her palm into his proffered hand.

* * *

Emma laughed as he twirled her. “I feel like there should be a disco ball spinning above us, or something.”

“I imagine that was the idea, back in the day.”

As she spun back closer to him, he smiled.

“What?”

“Nothing, Swan, just thinking that your parents had it all wrong. They should’ve signed you up for modern, or hip-hop, or what-have-you—not bloody ballet. You’ve got a talent for the quicker movements.”

Emma slapped his chest lightly. “Hey now, easy on the mocking.”

He grinned down at her. “I’m not mocking you, Swan. I’m being quite serious—you appear to be a natural. You just needed to find your forte.”

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, looking down so he wouldn’t see her smile.

He gripped her shoulders suddenly, gave them a squeeze. “Oy, Swan, you can’t leave your first visit at Alex’s without a trip to the photobooth as well.”

She looked over at the ancient contraption. “Does that thing even work?”

“Of course. Come on!”

* * *

They stumbled out of the bar, a far more sober Killian supporting Emma around the waist. He turned, tilted his head toward her jacket pocket. “Well now, Swan, let’s have a look. It can’t be that bad.”

Emma pulled out the photostrip, looked down—and her breath caught in her throat. Except for the first picture where they were both looking at the shutter, a weak attempt at looking normal before it descended into wacky poses (as all photobooth trips go), he was focused completely on her. A tongue stuck out, dangerously close to her earlobe, nose against her cheek, and then the last one, when she’d looked back at him…. In that one, they both looked like they’d simultaneously had the wind knocked out of them; their hands on each other’s forearms and just a ghost of a grin on their faces, eyes focused on the other.

She turned to the side, startled to find Killian’s face just a hair’s breadth away from hers. The warm puff of his exhale ghosted across her lips, as she was sure her breaths were doing to him as well. If she moved forward just an inch… _No_. _Are you nuts?_ Emma cleared her throat and took a deep breath to steady herself, glad when her voice didn’t shake.

“Here.” She thrust the photostrip towards him.

He stared down at it like he’d never seen it in his life. “No,” he said—and _his_ voice was definitely not steady—“you keep it.” He folded her fingers over one edge. “Put it under your pillow and dream of me, Swan Princess.”

She punched him lightly on the shoulder, trying to play off the moment and dispel the heat of his stare. “You’re a massive dork, did anyone ever tell you that?”

He didn’t respond, just gave her an inscrutable look, and led her back to the motorcycle. “Let’s be off, Swan.”

* * *

Of course, a motorcycle wasn’t exactly a car—no attempt at conversation could be made while riding one. Emma suspected by the stiffness of his posture, even if they were in a car, Killian wouldn’t be talking.

He pulled up alongside her Beetle, and she hopped off. “I’ll…I’ll see you around?”

“As you wish,” he murmured, running a hand along the handlebars.

She put her hands on her hips. “Something wrong?”

He looked up quickly, his blue eyes smoldering like dry ice. “Only that I thought we had a lovely time tonight, until right at the end when you started pushing me away again. Afraid?”

“ _Pssh_ , of what? You?”

“Maybe. Perhaps you’re afraid of what’s between us.”

“There’s _nothing_ between us! Nothing but a couple of laughs and a similar taste in artwork,” Emma said, feeling terrible at the look on his face it brought on.

“Right then, I’ll be off.” He started to right his motorcycle for takeoff.

“Killian, I didn’t mean—“

“Swan, it’s getting late, I work early, you don’t owe me any—“

He was abruptly cut off by a pair of soft lips landing on his. Killian paused for only a split second before his own started to move against Emma’s, tilting his head for a better angle. He felt her arms twine around his neck, fingers moving up to knock his helmet off and grip his hair roughly. He felt her mouth open against his, and he didn’t hesitate to slip his tongue in to press against hers. His hands—where were his hands? He thought they were probably resting on her waist, but it was difficult to tell—his body felt numb below the neck, like his head had filled with helium.

“Emma,” he moaned, moving back to kiss along her jaw—and just like that, the spell was broken.

“Oh shit!” Emma’s eyes flew open and she gave him a mighty shove in the chest. “What the—oh, _shit_. I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t’ve done that.” She gestured between them. “This—this didn’t happen.”

“Emma—“

“I—I should go. I am, I’m going!” She fumbled with her keys for a second, landing in the driver’s seat with a graceless plop. “We’ll, uh, yeah…I gotta go.”

“Emma, please—“

But she had already slammed the door, and the old car screeched horrifically, burning rubber as Emma tore out of the parking lot, leaving Killian staring, dumbfounded, after her.


	7. The Discovery

Emma woke with a start when she felt a sharp pinch on her thigh. Ruby was crouched down next to her head, a suspicious gleam in her eyes. The sneak, must’ve found the spare key under the mat.

“What the hell did you get up to last night?”

Emma tried to push Ruby over with a hand on her face, but the other girl dodged her groggy swipe easily. “What’re you talking about?”

“You were just making out with your pillow.”

Her eyes shot open fully. “I was _not_!”

“You most certainly were. Either you’re a closet objectophile, or you were having an amazingly filthy dream.” She got up, started prancing around the room with affected casualness. “But about who, I wonder?”

“Neal,” Emma replied, too quickly.

A sharp peal of laughter escaped Ruby. “Uh-huh. Neal. Riiiight.”

Emma let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, I’m still pissed at you for that crap you pulled yesterday, but I’m going to explode if I don’t tell someone. I…I did something I really shouldn’t have. Like, _really_ shouldn’t have. I know you’ve, uh, been in the same boat before, so—”

“Oh, wow, I never thought this day would come. I mean, after you went all the way through college without…well, without experimenting, I didn’t think you ever would. Honestly, I always thought you kept pretty square for going to an art school, but—

Emma clipped her on the side of the head with the pillow. “Oh my _god_. I didn’t screw a girl last night, you dope! I—I kissed Killian.”

She expected some kind of theatric scream, but Ruby was only stunned into silence for about two seconds, before she fixed Emma with a studious look, resting her chin on her steepled fingers.

“Okay, okay. Not shocking in the least, but I still need specifics. Who started it? Was it on the forehead? The cheek? The mouth?”

“The mouth—“

“The mouth! Okay, good. Tongue? Biting? Incoherent noises?”

“Jesus, I can’t take you seriously like this. But yeah, there was…tongue. And I started it.”

“You _slut_! No, kidding, I like this so far. So what happens now?”

Emma fell back onto the bed. “Now? Nothing much. I should probably call Killian to apologize for trying to eat his face.” She burrowed her head into the sheets. “God, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Seriously? That’s all you have to say?”

Emma turned, brow creased. “What else is there to say?”

Ruby blew out an exasperated puff of air. “Really, Emma. You’re so out of practice. Was it _good_?”

Those full, soft lips that contrasting with the rough scrape of stubble, moving against her smooth face, the way both their mouths just _fit_ —

“It was, uh…it was all right.”

“Sure. Now how about the truth?”

“I only told you because…well, you’ve been between guys before. Did you ever tell one about the other?”

“No. I just always went with the better kisser. So…who is it?”

“None of your business! And it doesn’t matter—this doesn’t change anything. I’m not telling Neal, though.”

Ruby rolled her lips around for a moment, like she was fighting against saying the wrong thing, then: “So what did Killian say?”

“Uh…nothing. I pushed him away, told him it was a mistake, then jumped in the car and left.”

“Geez, Emma. You really know how to sweep a guy off his feet.”

Now she did explode. “There’s only one guy I should be sweeping off his feet, and it sure as hell isn’t Killian fucking Jones!”

Ruby waved her hands. “Alright, alright, calm down. Why don’t you invite him out to the dinner with everyone tonight? No hard feelings, everything’s cool, yada yada yada…know what I mean?”

“Vaguely.” She rubbed at her temples. What a mess she’d made.

“A peace offering, Emma. If he comes, he realizes you made a mistake too, and he’s not mad at you. Don’t you still like him as a…as a friend?”

“Of course.”

“Well then?”

“If I do, will you go away?”

“Only if you _really_ ask him. And I’ll know if you didn’t!”

Once Ruby finally relented and left Emma in peace, she stewed awhile longer. She knew before she’d kissed him that Killian had been about to say she didn’t owe him anything. But through no pressure on his part, she was starting to think that wasn’t altogether true. Because for the first time in years, Emma was feeling a flame of hope flickering inside her, rising out of the ashes.

* * *

It took hours of pacing around her apartment, cleaning things that didn’t merit it, and staring at the TV before she worked up the courage to call Killian. He answered on the first ring.

“Oh, Swan. This is unexpected. The way you acted last night, I thought you’d have gone into Witness Protection by now.”

“I’m sorry, Killian. I just…overreacted. Got caught up in the moment, I was feeling good—“

“Were you, then?”

“But, you know, it was a…a mistake. It’s not like—it’s not like it can happen again. I’m sorry to have…put you in that awkward situation.”

Killian concentrated on making his tone casual. “S’alright, Swan. Why, if I had a pound for every woman whose wanted a few smooches with the dark and dashing stripper before their wedding…well, I guess I’d be poor.” He paused for a second, then when there was only silence: “You know…since you can’t use pounds here.”

That finally elicited a small laugh. “Really, Killian, I _am_ sorry. In fact, I wanted to see if you’d like to come out to dinner with us tonight. Me, Ruby, Elsa, Victor…”

“And Neal?”

He could hear the deep intake of breath on her side. “Yes, him too. Is that a problem?”

Before he could answer, there was a beeping coming from Emma’s side of the conversation. “Hold just a sec, Killian.” She switched over to the ‘call waiting’. “Hello?”

A strange male voice asked, “Excuse me, have I reached Emma Nolan?”

 _Oh no_ , Emma thought, _he’s had an accident and landed in the hospital, or something. Kissed another man before our wedding and cursed him._

“Yes?”

“I believe we have your boyfriend here…Neal? He’s…well, he’s gotten obnoxiously drunk, and the manager is making us kick him out. He’s got some friends here, but one isn’t any better off, and the other came on a bike, and this Neal guy doesn’t remember where his car is, and—“

Wonderful. Drunk by 7pm on a weekday. She guessed that was the beauty of having zero responsibilities. There went the dinner plans. “Thanks,” Emma said to the poor bartender after she got the name of the place, recognizing it as a strictly college coed hellhole in Hermosa Beach. “I’ll be right over.”

She switched back over to Killian. Maybe she shouldn’t invite him now, however the plans ended up. It was bad enough when the people she’d known forever were subjected to Neal’s idiotic drunk ramblings. After her embarrassing breakdown the other evening, she wanted to keep a strong front on with Killian, even though she knew he was the type who wouldn’t think any less of her for having to deal with her trashed fiancé. Somehow letting everything out that had bothered her for so long—and to someone she’d only known a couple weeks, no less—was more humiliating than the kiss. Not even her own parents seemed to get how unproductive she’d been feeling the past few years, which was more active omission on her part than cluelessness on theirs. Even to them, she hated showing weakness. She was their strong, capable, only child and that was how things were going to stay.

“Killian? I’m sorry, but I just got a call…Neal’s…incapacitated, and I have to go get him. Maybe another time?”

Another time be damned. Killian knew it wasn’t his responsibility—hell, he didn’t have the _right_ —but the thought of Emma having to deal with whatever that punk had gotten into, all on her own….

“Trouble? Perhaps I could help.”

There was a pause. “I don’t want you to see him like this. It’s…well, he’s going to be all my responsibility soon enough. Might as well get used to it.”

He kept his sigh in check. “How about you accept some assistance for as long as you can, then?”

“No,” she insisted stubbornly, “I’ll get him myself. Original dinner plans are a bust now, though. But, um, I’m picking him up just one town over from my parents’ place. Maybe I can move the festivities there instead. Still interested?”

Was he ever. But after that force-of-nature kiss the other night, maybe he needed a buffer. The way he was feeling, Swan’s whole armada of friends and even her git of a fiancé might not be able to pry his lips from hers if he saw her again without some kind of chaperone.

“Would it be inconvenient if I…if I invited someone along? Don’t wish to be rude, though, so if it is—“

“No! It’s—that’s great! I’ll just text you the info after I pick up Neal.”

She threw her phone against the couch cushions a bit too forcefully after she’d hung up and sent Killian her parents’ address and a general start time. What if Killian brought a woman with him? A hot wave of dizziness swept over her at the thought, and she told herself that was ridiculous. He’d asked to bring someone, and she’d agreed. Plus why _shouldn’t_ he bring a woman—he was a hot, available man, and they were just friends. Friends who revealed more than they should to each other, and participated in face-meltingly amazing kisses that should never have occurred.

Her phone beeped with his return text. _I’ve invited my mate from the yard, Will. A loudmouthed sort, but he’s sure to entertain if there’s a lull in the evening._

A stupidly wide grin snuck over Emma’s face, then she hugged her knees as she felt a flush creep up it as well.

* * *

Neal was propped up, one arm around August, a friend of his from the USC frat house days that Emma loathed for trying to keep each of their breakups permanent via taking Neal out to plenty of parties, bar singles’ nights, and strip clubs during the “breaks”. She didn’t make any secret about it, either.

“Hey, Emma,” he said with a fake smile. “You’re looking good. Have you lost weight?”

“Yeah, but I heard they found it on your mom’s ass,” she shot back automatically, knowing how immature it was, but then again that seemed to be the only language Neal and his friends spoke most of the time.

She turned to the man that had Neal’s other arm, not recognizing him. He certainly didn’t look like the other frat brother groomsman she’d met briefly. This one had very old clothes on, though he was pulled together neatly, and looked tidy. Which was more than she could say about Neal at the moment, whose hair was sticking up every which way, had ripped pants, and a large stain of something (beer? barbecue sauce?) running down the front of his light-colored shirt.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met before.”

The guy actually gave her a little bow, completely sincere. “Robin Locksley. And you must be Emma.”

“The ol’ ball and chain,” Neal perked up enough to burp out.

“Shut up, Neal, or I’ll leave you here. I don’t think the cops will be as forgiving as me.” She stood up a little straighter. Wow, where had _that_ come from?

Neal look confused. “What—what did you just—“

She cut him off. “Boys, I’m right at the top of that hill. Let’s go.”

* * *

Soon after they arrived at the townhouse and deposited Neal on the couch, Elsa and Ruby showed up, too. That got August to swallow his pride and start to hoof it down to the Green Line metro stop, not being able to deal with the death glares coming from three women at once. Thankfully, David and Mary Margaret weren’t there to witness the mess that was Neal; Thursdays were usually her parents’ date night, and with any luck, Regina would already be in a vodka-induced slumber or too engrossed in one of her bodice-rippers to bother them.

Right as the pizza guy was handing Victor the order Emma had called in, a short, bug-eyed man burst in behind him, a bottle of Scotch swinging from his fingers, yelling: “Right, so I heard this was the joint to be to have a rollicking, naked good time?”

Emma pushed Victor aside. “ _Excuse_ me, who—“. And then she saw Killian next to him. The other guy had to be his loudmouth coworker.

“Hi.”

“Hello.” She twisted at the hem of her dress.

“Bloody hell, are we staying on the porch all night? I’ve got an appetite!” Will barreled between them, making for the living room. “Hello, Emma dear.”

“Er, hi—“

“And that,” Killian said with his hand in a presenter’s pose, “is the infamous Will Scarlet.”

Emma kept her voice to a whisper. “How’d—how do you guys know each other? Did you come from England together?”

Killian let out a laughing bark. “Oddly enough, not every Brit knows each other, Swan. No, we met at work, and bonded over our mutual fish-out-of-water experiences in a new land.”

“I’m sure your mutual cocky attitudes didn’t hurt, either.”

“You wound me, Swan.”

“Where’re the tumblers at, eh?” Will started rummaging around the glassware cabinet in the adjoining dining room. Killian strode after him.

“Take it down a notch, will you? Remember, I only invited you because—“

“Don’t worry, mate, like I said, I’m here to keep you honest and—hel _lo_ , who’s that?” he broke off, staring at Elsa, sitting regally on one of the easy chairs, hands clasped around a glass of club soda, back ramrod straight. Not waiting for an answer, he clapped Killian on the back. “Sorry, boyo, but you can’t compete with that. Off I go.”

Killian almost jumped out of his skin at the tickle of warm breath in his ear. “She’s going to eviscerate him, you know. Verbally.”

He turned halfway to answer Emma. “Oh, don’t worry about Scarlet. Skull’s too thick to know when he’s getting the kiss-off routine. She’ll be amused, and he’ll think she’s into him. Keeps ‘im out of my hair, at least.”

She laughed, visibly relaxing. “I’m really glad you came.”

He darted a quick glance towards the couch, making sure Neal was preoccupied, and tapped the end of her nose. “Me too, Swan.”

The sound of a pair of feet coming down the stairs broke through their moment, and Emma groaned when she heard the voice.

“What the hell is all the racket going on down here? Can’t someone take a bubble bath in their own home in pea—“ Regina’s complaining stopped when she got to the bottom of the stairs and took in the group, while it seemed to Emma that _her_ discomfort was just starting. Regina had on a silk crimson robe (with obviously nothing underneath), matching marabou feather heels, and a martini balanced in her hand. She ignored the stares, pointed at Emma. “And don’t think I didn’t hear and see that homeless man you let vomit in the driveway on your way in. I for one am not cleaning that up.”

“Regina,” Emma said, trying to keep a level tone, “that was just Neal. He, uh, was feeling sick.”

Regina’s eyes slid over to the couch, lip curling back at his disheveled appearance. “Oh, never mind…I see the resemblance from earlier now.”

“Hi, Gran-Gran!” Neal said, waving wildly, which she pretended not to see. She zeroed in on Will and Robin. “Who’re you two?”

Will swaggered forward, jerking a thumb at Killian. “Name’s Will, I’m with ‘im, Ms.—?”

“Mills.” She turned to Killian. “Hello again, Pretty Eyes.”

“Hey, Gran-Gran, how ‘bout a nickname for me, hmm?” Neal entreated.

“’Cookie Tosser’ would seem to be apt, given recent events. Take it or leave it, Nelson.”

“It’s _Neal_.”

“Of course, of course. And you?” She held out her hand to Robin, who raised it to his lips chivalrously.

“Robin, Madam Mills.”

Regina turned a questioning look on Emma. “Why’s there a British Invasion here tonight?”

“Robin’s my new groomsman! Woohoo!” Neal hooted loudly, pumping a fist in the air.

Regina pressed a fingertip delicately to her ear. “Well, now that the neighborhood cats have been woken up—“

“Why’d you need a new groomsman?” Emma asked. This was news to her.

“Ralph took off to clown college.”

Well, that sounded along the line of great life choices his usual friends were prone to making. Regina scrutinized Robin, voicing Emma’s confusion. “You don’t exactly seem like the type to be Nigel’s groomsman, young man.”

“Gran-Gran, my name’s Ne—“

She glared back over at Neal. “Oh…you’re still here. And talking.” Neal settled back again, a pouty expression on his face.

Robin looked down, fiddled with a corner of his puffy, olive-green fisherman’s vest. “Truthfully, I was a bit surprised myself to be asked,” he began in a low voice. “I’ve changed a lot since my hedonistic, frat-boy days with Neal and August at USC.” He looked up, getting a faraway look in his eyes. “One day…well, you could say I had a moment of clarity, and realized I was going through life in a meaningless fashion. So I started roaming the world to find myself. Building mud huts in Papua New Guinea, farming durians in Thailand. I just got back from the Mongolian desert—I’ve been living amongst the cattle herders there in a yurt for the past six months.”

Regina was eyeing Robin with a laughable mix of revulsion and intrigue on her face. “How very…rugged.” She leaned closer to him, letting the robe’s slick material gape open at the neckline even further, revealing most of her bosom. “Do go on, mountain man.”

“I…,” Robin was staring at her, slackjawed.

“Hey, my eyes are up here, Sweetness. I can’t blame you, though, the doctor says I’m in remarkable shape for my age. Do with that information what you will.”

Ugh, that was enough of that, Emma decided. If there was a sure way to get Regina to quit harping on Neal _and_ avoid her trying to ‘Mrs. Robinson’ a surprisingly nice friend of his, it would be this. “Say, _Gran-Gran_ ,” Emma started, “I’ll get Neal home, but only if I can take him in your car.”

The car in question was Regina’s pride and joy, a pale pink Cadillac bestowed upon her many years ago after convincing (bullying was more like it) a multitude of women into buying an insane number of Mary Kay cosmetics. She drove it as little as possible, took it to be washed and waxed twice a month, and never let anyone else close to it, much less in it. Even though the house had a closed garage, she still turned the car alarm on whenever she wasn’t nearby. And right then, the thought of Neal in her precious convertible was making her face contort like a cat who’d just had a bucket of water dumped on it.

“Why, you… _him_ …no.” She stood up suddenly, finishing her martini in one fast swig. “You stay away from it, you understand? _Away_!” She scuttled to the keyhook by the front door, and stuck her car keys down her cleavage. Far from her usual deliberate glide, she stomped angrily up the stairs, and slammed her bedroom door.

“I’m sorry about that…”

Robin grinned sheepishly. “It’s fine, really. She’s quite—quite a character.”

There was a lull for a bit as everyone mixed drinks and ate pizza. Once that wound down, it wasn’t Will who broke the silence, but Victor.

“I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be a secret or something, but I know about the, er…the stripping,” he said to Killian.

“It’s…it’s alright,” Killian answered. It was bound to come out sooner or later, with Emma, Ruby, and Elsa knowing. Ruby didn’t seem like the type to keep secrets.

“A stripper?” Neal’s eyes glittered beadily. “You strip for—for women?”

“That’s right, mate. Birthdays, bachelorette parties, girls’ night out—things of that ilk.”

“So, uh, I bet you get plenty of tail with that side job,” Victor commented; Ruby laughed and gave him a smack in the chest.

“Er, well, not as much as you might think,” Killian began, then, seeing Emma’s eyes on him, elaborated. “It’s definitely fun for a little while, when you’re first in that scene. But I’ve already been through the whole crazy life period, and so women throwing themselves at you…let’s just say it got terribly old, terribly fast.”

Neal looked absolutely gobsmacked. “You mean to—I mean, you’re saying…you turn down free, horny chicks. _Regularly_.” He leaned back against the couch, gave Killian a skeptical stare. “Have you ever kissed another guy, man?”

“Neal!” Emma hissed.

Killian let a slow breath in, then out through his nose. Best to not rise to the bait, make it plain who the idiot was in this situation. “I’m saying there’s such a thing as too easy, for me, and I’m not about that type of thing anymore.” His gaze met Emma’s for only a splitsecond before continuing. “I’m more about the chase these days.”

Neal leaned back, arms folded behind his head. “Emma was ripe for the taking—just twenty when we met, all into her weirdo art classes—“

“I was young and impressionable,” she mumbled, rolling her Scotch glass between her hands.

He gave her an irritated look. “Well, I guess I made quite an impression. Eight years later, still together—yeah, she tried to break up a few times, but she always realized her mistake. I guess you really never get over the one that popped your ch—“

Emma snatched one of the throw pillows on the loveseat and threw it across the room, right into Neal’s face. “Shut the hell up right now, Neal, I fucking mean it!”

He just caught it, and settled back comfortably. “You’re mouthy tonight. Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much.”

“Maybe _I_ —are you kidding me? Who’s the one who redecorated my parents’ driveway?!”

“Just stop talking, you douchebag,” Elsa piped up from her corner where Will was shadowing her. Emma and Ruby both looked surprised; Elsa rarely went toe-to-toe with Neal. She hated confrontation, but it looked like she’d reached her limit.

“Don’t be jealous when you hear about other people getting it on, Elsa. I’ll bet you’re still as frigid as the day you were born.”

If looks could kill, the icy daggers shooting from Elsa’s eyes would have impaled Neal on the spot.

“Emma doesn’t like having your private moments out there for all to know, mate,” Killian said, voice raspy with anger. “And that’s understandable.”

 “And just a warning, old bean,” Will said, “you insult this lovely lady here again, and you’ll be answering to _me_.” He ended that with a sarcastic wink.

Elsa turned, annoyed. “I don’t need _you_ standing up for—“

Neal snorted loudly. “I’m not going to get myself dirty fighting a—a fucking blue collar worker.”

Will laughed. “That I may be, mate, but hard work does wonders for the abdominals,” he said, patting his stomach. “I’d show you, but I suspect that would make you even more mad. Give ye a feeling of failure as well, true, but mostly mad.”

Neal stood up, fists clenched. “You little shit—“

“Hey!” Ruby held up a hand at Neal. “Knock off the tough guy act, Mike Tyson; you aren’t going to rumble in the Nolans’ living room.”

“When I want advice from you, dyke, I’ll ask—“

“What did I tell you at the pier, man? You insult her one more time, _one more time_ , and I’ll—“

“Stuff it up your ass, Whale—“

Emma put her fingers into the sides of her mouth and blew an ear-piercing whistle. “Everybody shut the fuck up, alright?” She sighed. “Party’s over. Everyone just…let’s clear out.”

* * *

“Sorry about…everything tonight, guys,” Emma said as she walked Killian and Will outside to send them off.

“Wasn’t your fault, love,” Killian murmured.

“Right, but maybe next time a muzzle would—“ Will started, before Killian punched him in the side.

She turned to Killian, a tremulous smile on her face. “I—I’ll see—we’ll get together sometime again this week?”

 “Sounds good.”

 She grinned. “Bye, Will. It was nice to—oh!” Will had completely ignored her outstretched hand and lifted her right up off the ground. “Until we meet again, lovely.”

“I told you she was brilliant,” Killian said as they walked to Will’s car.

“Quite right: that lovely braid, the tight little pants, the way she called out that giant bugger—“

“I’m talking about Emma, and you know it. And don’t even think of going for her friends.”

“Emma….Oh yeah, fantastic, wonderful, the epitome of class…” Will trailed off, then without warning gave Killian a hard smack across the back of his head.

“Bloody hell!” Killian was sure he was seeing stars. “What the everloving _fuck_ was that for?!”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, you sneaky wanker. Going for the taken ones again, thought you’d gotten that outta yer system. But this one, she’s a nice girl, even if she’s all about that insufferable sod—back away, Jones. And stop torturin’ yourself; it’s bloody pathetic to witness.”

“We’re friends, you daft, bloody—“

“I’d bet a million pounds you’ve never had a friend of the fairer sex in your whole damn adult life.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Will just eyed him distrustfully. “You’re settin’ up yerself for a great disappointment. Just walk away, mate.”

* * *

Much as Emma would’ve liked to leave Neal passed out on a couch far from her, she didn’t want her parents’ inevitable questions that would come with it. She managed to cart Neal up to her place, and deposited him on her own sofa.

He looked up at her, holding out his arms, motioning her to stoop down for a kiss. “C’mon baby, lemme stay with you.”

“No,” she said firmly. “You made a huge scene tonight. Besides, I don’t want you throwing up in my bed.”

He rolled over, pushing his face into the sofa back. “Well, when you get over it, you know where to find me for some sexual healing.” In two minutes flat, a loud snore reverberated up from his prone body. Emma rolled her eyes and went to her bedroom, then on second thought, turned the lock. She didn’t want to be startled awake at 3am to Neal dry humping her leg, or something.

Sleep wouldn’t come, though. She paced, read a little, but the restlessness remained, and she couldn’t figure out why. Emma belly flopped on her bed, punching her pillow. Tonight could have been so nice with everyone together, but fucking Neal just had to ruin it, and now his snores were sounding throughout the whole apartment. She sat up with a start when she realized what was keeping her up: she couldn’t even remember the last time they’d slept together, nor when she’d even wanted to. Not unusual on her part, but definitely on his; he seemed to paw at her constantly. _Except_ , she thought, _when he was cheating on you before_. And those times she’d suspected him of it, too. But tonight he hadn’t even sat near her, and given up far too easily for him when he was relegated to the sofa. Well, it was a likely scenario at this point, but she wanted to be sure. She padded out to the living room.

“Hey baby,” she purred in his ear, pushing her breasts up against his shoulder. “Wake up.”

He mumbled some nonsense, and turned over. Emma reached out and grabbed his junk through his pants, squeezing harder than necessary. “I _said_ , wake up!”

“Ow!” Neal bolted upright. “What’s your problem?”

She thrust out her bottom lip. “I’m lonely. Come warm me up.” She ran her hands down his legs.

“Heh,” he laughed weakly. “I thought…I thought you were tired.”

“I was, but, you know…the thought of you gets me…fired up.” She might be a horrible liar, but Neal was always too dense to tell.

He disentangled himself. “No, babe, you were right. I’ve been a jerk.” He laid down and turned his back on her. “Sleeping out here, away from you, can be my punishment.”

Her eyes narrowed knowingly. _Boom_ , nail in the coffin. The motherfucker had done it again.

* * *

A nice, hot shower usually calmed Emma down and let her regain a cool head about tough situations. What the fuck was she going to do? The damn wedding was in a week, and there was no way she was going to marry someone who had cheated on her for what she surmised was the fourth fucking time. She leaned her head back against the tiles, breathing slowly and letting the water hit her face. At least Gold had paid for more of the wedding than her parents; it wouldn’t be an insurmountable financial loss to them. And, of course, she’d offer to help them with the house and business to make up for it, though she knew they wouldn’t be mad. Her father would probably dance a jig, come to think of it. Regina wouldn’t be as open with her feelings, but she’d probably shoot Emma her catlike smile and tip whatever she was drinking at the moment towards her, which was practically jumping up and down in her mind. Her friends would be ecstatic. And Killian…

Emma’s eyes flew open. He’d turned into such a great person to talk to. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to bounce all this off him first. _Yeah, who’re you kidding?_ A great listener, a friend, an incredible kisser…maybe she did just want to see how he’d take it. And where they could go from there.

Emma closed her eyes again, thinking about that wild black hair she’d run her fingers through, those clear blue eyes, his soft smile when she felt like she’d revealed too much. Her hand drifted down, over her breasts, across her stomach, and down her abdomen to that center of pleasure, rubbing tentatively. She squeezed her thighs together as the first little synapses of sensation started to spark. Her other hand braced against the shower door, and she tilted her head back, thinking back on that first night, when he’d lifted her up against that muscular chest, how the soft, dark hair had felt under her exploring hands, his tight ass rubbing into her lap, right over her clit….

She came suddenly, a spasm rocketing through her, all the way down her limbs. Emma thudded heavily against the shower door, gripping the top of it with both hands now, breathing heavily.

Her head jerked up at the knock on the door. “Alright in there, babe? You didn’t slip, did you? Cause I can’t drive your car to the hospital, you know, cause of the insurance. My rates would go through the roof.”

“Tool,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing—go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

* * *

Emma left Killian a voicemail the next morning after Neal left, and he called her back on his lunch break. She hadn’t given Neal the big kiss-off yet, mostly because she thought any immediate broaching of the subject would end with her hands around his throat. Best to give it a day or two.

“What’s the plan, Swan? Feeling like another night out? We could have a re-do of yesterday.”

She giggled nervously. “I appreciate that, Killian, but actually…I have a favor to ask you.”

“Oh, a _favor_. This sounds interesting. Out with it, love.”     

“I want you—“

“This sounds promising already—“

“Will you let me finish, you dork? I want—I want you to pose for me.”

“As in…?”

“As in, for a painting. It’s completely for practice, of course, so don’t get your hopes up. And I can’t pay you, but you can have it when I’m done.”

“Why, Swan,” he said, and Emma could hear the smile in his voice. “Does this mean after our little talk the other day that your muse has returned?”

“Not exactly. But I’m trying to be proactive, y’know? Give it a little push.”

“Well, nothing wrong with that. And who am I to stand in the way of artistic genius? Will this posing involve nudity?”

“Absolutely _not_.”

“I’m just saying, if your creativity calls for nudity, I’ll bite the bullet, and—“

She laughed. “You’re an absolute dope sometimes. Could you come over Sunday morning?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think we've all known someone like Robin at some point--usually they're completely pretentious, but I made him more well-intentioned about his travels.


	8. The Decision

Emma had thought taking a full two days between the last time she’d seen Killian would’ve cooled her down enough for their Sunday painting schedule. But as soon as she opened her door to him in a tight navy Henley and sex tousled-looking hair, she felt a flare of heat in her abdomen start to rise. At least, she thought, he seemed to likewise be appreciating the thin shirt and ripped denim shorts she wore for painting in.

Killian cocked a brow as she stood blocking the doorway, staring at him. “See something you like, love?”

“Sorry,” she grumbled, giving her head a little shake, and turning to let him in.

After that, she made a valiant attempt to keep everything businesslike—getting Killian situated, her materials set up, and started doing a light sketch of him with a soft charcoal stick onto the canvas.

“Can I see?”

“ _No_. You’ll see it when it’s done.”

“So strict.”

“You bet.”

They stayed in companionable silence for awhile as Emma laid the foundation, until Killian started to squirm. Emma went and marked his position with masking tape, and told him to stretch, trying not to let her gaze drift down to the slice of toned stomach exposed when he raised his arms above his head. He caught her anyway, of course.

“You know, Swan, that offer of nudity still stands.”

“No thank you! Get back into place.”

“Slave driver.”

They lapsed back into quiet, until Killian said offhandedly: “So, I had a somewhat odd conversation with Will when we left your mum and dad’s house the other night.” He heard the soft scratching of the brush bristles pause.

“Going to tell me about what?”

“He said I was making a fool of myself for you. That I was setting myself up for disappointment if I continued to partake of your company.” He waited for a minute, but she didn’t say anything, nor start painting again. “What do you think?”

“Do you think I’ve been…been leading you on?”

“Aside from attacking me the other night in the parking lot? You’ve been the picture of innocence since then.”

She peered around her canvas at him, scowling. “I said I was sorry! It was just a…momentary lapse in judgment.”

“Is that all you want from me, Swan? A momentary lapse in judgment?”

She sighed, standing up and wiping her hands on a paint-stained towel, walking over to Killian and crouching down. “I haven’t said anything yet, to anyone, but…I’m leaving Neal. Not for you,” she added quickly when she saw his eyes widen, “it’s for me.”

His eyes narrowed. “And why the sudden change of heart, love?”

“It hasn’t been sudden…a long time coming, actually…Let’s just say, my eyes are open now.”

“But you haven’t broken the news to him yet that your ‘eyes are open now’, have you?”

“It’s a delicate matter, Killian, I have to think about how to—“

“Don’t play games with me, Emma.”

“I’m not! I—I wouldn’t.” She leaned forward to kiss him, but he turned quickly, her lips landing on his ear.

“I like you. I like you a _lot_. I have all the time in the world, Swan. But one thing I won’t do is be some second-rate affair for a thrill before you head off to your new life. Once you talk to Neal, well now…we’ll see.” He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. “Same time tomorrow?”

Even his motorcycle ride home didn’t calm Killian as usual; he felt like his insides were stormy with conflict. Of course, he wanted nothing more than have Emma, kiss her, touch her, pillage and plunder…the problem was, he wanted all of her, and would never consent to share or be some dirty secret. He kicked the stair railing savagely as he went up to his apartment. Sometimes he wished he hadn’t become such a decent guy.

* * *

Though she hated asking others for advice, this kind of problem was an arena Emma had never found herself in before, and she steeled herself as she walked up her parents’ driveway. Sure, she’d always been closer to her dad, but when it came to matters of the heart, she felt a bit uncomfortable going to him. Not to mention if he suspected Neal of treating her badly, no amount of pleading from her or Mary Margaret would stop him from immediately jumping in his truck, sitting through rush hour all the way to Pasadena, and knocking Neal’s block off as soon as he answered the door. No, for once she needed a cooler head to bounce ideas off of.

“Are you alright, honey?” Mary Margaret asked after she’d brought over two mugs of tea. “When you said you needed to talk right away, well…you know, it’s perfectly normal to have butterflies so soon before your wedding—“

“It’s not that, Mom. Well,I guess it kinda is…I think I should leave Neal.” Seeing the stricken look on her mother’s face, she continued on. “He’s, well, he doesn’t love me anymore, and hasn’t treated me well for a long time. I feel like…like even more of a failure when I’m with him. He just—just magnifies all the problems I’ve had these past few years”—she didn’t want to say he was the reason for them—“I mean, I know I’m a disappointment, but—“

“Emma, how…how could you even think that? Honey, you’ve hit a rough patch, that’s true, but you’ll rise up. I know it; it’s the type of person you are.”

Emma tried to smile through her blurry vision. “That’s basically what Killian told me.”

“Killian? Your friend who came to the cake tasting with us?” She gave Emma a big grin. “Well, he seems like a wise young man, thinking the way I do. How come you’ve never brought him around before, since you knew him from Otis?”

Emma looked down at the nervous tapping her fingers were doing on the table. “I didn’t exactly…know him from school. In fact, I met him pretty recently.”

“Okay…” Mary Margaret leaned forward, clearly not understanding what the issue was here.

“He, uh, he gave me a lap dance at my bachelorette party,” Emma said in a rush, squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her fists. Fuck, this was unbearably uncomfortable. “And I think I’ve got—developed feelings for him.” After she didn’t hear a reaction from her mother, she chanced a glance up.

“He was…is…a stripper?”

“Yeah, part-time. I was kinda mean to him at first, but he’s just been—“

Mary Margaret reached across the table to grasp Emma’s hands. “I don’t want to sound callous, honey, but could this just be pre-wedding jitters? I mean, he seemed like a very nice boy, but you only met him—what?—a month ago? And I know Neal’s let himself go somewhat, but—

“ _Mom_. Do you really think I’m that shallow, to be considering calling this all off over someone who’s simply more _attractive_?”

Her mother fidgeted. “No, of course not, that’s not what I meant. I just—“

Emma interrupted. She was getting more and more irritable, and she didn’t want to end things by blowing up at Mary Margaret. She couldn’t even blame her, really, after keeping these kind of things to herself her whole life and never going to her mother before. “You know what, I’ve—I think I’ve got a handle on things now. I guess I just needed to talk them out.” She rose to leave.

Of course, she wasn’t fooling the woman who raised her. “Emma, I didn’t mean to argue with you—“

“No, no, it’s fine…I’ll talk to you later, ‘kay?”

* * *

Well, that was a bust. Time to stop making excuses, and just go through with it, Emma thought, and headed out to the Gold mansion. Neal was always home; he didn’t have a whole hell of a lot to do, so she didn’t think it was impolite to just show up. To her surprise, though, Gold Senior was the one who answered the door.

“Hello, dearie. Care to come in?” He touched her shoulder lightly, and Emma could almost feel her skin crawl. “I’m just looking for—“

“Who the _hell_ is this, now?” A craggy voice rang out. “You steppin’ out on me, Daddy?”

Emma peered around Gold and stared at the figure reclining on the living room couch, a strange woman not much older than herself, with dark curls piled on top of her head, and a tight, short leather skirt that left little to the imagination. The woman shifted, digging her stiletto heels into the cream-colored throw pillows, and then there _wasn’t_ anything left to imagine—apparently, she didn’t believe in underwear. She looked Emma up and down, taking a drag off a cigarette that dangled between her fingers before she continued her rant.

“You said I was all you needed, then you bring this _whore_ around while I’m still in the house?” the woman continued in her smoker-scratchy voice. She stubbed her cigarette out on the bottom of her heel, then dug her foot back into the cushions, fixing Emma with a malevolent stare.

“ _What_? I’m—“

Gold cut Emma off. “Lacey, my dear, this is my son’s fiancée…the one whose wedding you’re going to.” Emma’s eyes widened; thank god this…barfly? Prostitute? Dominatrix?—ultimately wouldn’t be at any wedding of hers.

Lacey swung her legs off the couch. “Oh, _baby_.” She walked over, cupping the back of Gold’s head. “I’m sorry—but, but what was I supposed to think, this random, stuck-up blonde waltzin’ in here like she owns the place, and I—“

“Understandable, dearest,” Gold replied, and Lacey grinned, standing up on her toes to stick her tongue in Gold’s mouth, curling her calf around his.

Emma suppressed a shudder, cleared her throat, and they both turned to look at her like they’d forgotten she was there. “I hate to break this up, but I was hoping Neal—“

“Not here, dearie. Something I can do for you?”

Lacey tightened her grip on his lapels. “If her man’s not here, I think she should come back another time, don’t you, Daddy?”

Gold looked down at her fondly. “Always so right, Sweetest. Miss Nolan? I’ll see you to the door.”

Well, she thought as she headed home, it wasn’t her fault Neal hadn’t been there. She’d handle things, but in the meantime, there was nothing wrong with a little white lie.

* * *

Emma didn’t last long into their session the next day, before she stood abruptly and went to tape off his position. “Take a break.”

“It’s alright, Swan, I can go for awhile longer.”

“Well, I need a break.” She stepped up to him until there was less than a hairsbreadth between their faces. “And…I was hoping to pick up where we left off yesterday.”

Killian gave a very beleaguered sigh, turning his face to the side. “Emma, I told you, I don’t want you like this. I won’t be some fling to work out your pre-marriage apprehensions.”

She cupped his face, trying to turn it towards her. “Killian, look at me. _Please_.” He met her halfway, keeping his head turned in front of him, but his gaze was on her. “I ended things with Neal. Yes, I should’ve done it a long time ago, but well…better late than never, I guess?” She saw him about to say something, and cut him off. “And don’t feel any pressure about it. I’m not going to latch onto you, or anything. We don’t— _you_ don’t owe me anything. It’s just…” her hands trailed from his face, down to his shoulders. “You just made me realize that I can have so much better. I won’t settle again, for anything. Thank you.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Is that a dismissal, Swan? Because that sounded suspiciously like one. What am I, some bloody fairy godmother that just floated in to show you the error of your—“

“Oh, shut _up_!” Emma sprung, climbing Killian like a tree, arms around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist. “Just shut up!” She ran a hand up the back of his head through his hair, gripping tightly, and lowered her mouth to his. He was stunned only for a second, until Emma nipped his lip—then he opened his mouth to hers, tilting his head for a deeper angle. There was nothing gentle about it—the biting, tongues pushing against each other, the bruising grip of his hands on her hips, and hers in his hair, the only noise in the room their combined, fervent exhales. Emma wasn’t even aware of them stumbling about until her back hit the wall.

“Swan,” he panted, “Emma, I want this, I really do, but…are you drunk?”

“No,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “I’ve just been a spectator in my own life for too long. I’m taking action—I _want_ you. I’ve wanted you since the moment you touched me on that stupid stage, in front of all those horny, drunk girls, with that awful music blaring.” She ran her hands down his chest almost timidly now. “Don’t—don’t you want—“

“Oh, bloody fucking hell, yes,” Killian managed, voice husky, eyes growing dark. She gave him a feral grin then, ripping his shirt open from the few buttons that held it closed, and leaned forward to bite his collarbone. He hoisted her up, spinning them both around to lay her on the carpet, his elbow hitting the side table, and sending her palette and tubes of paint flying.

He turned around. “I’m sorry—“

“Leave it!” Emma demanded, tugging at his waistband, trying to get his pants off.

“Oh no, Swan. It’s my turn.” Killian grabbed the hem of the large gray men’s shirt, and pushed it up until he got to her chest to discover she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Fuck, you minx,” he growled, lowering his head and catching one nipple between his lips, relishing the shrill keening that came from her throat at the contact. Her hips arched into him, over and over, and he thought he might go insane if she kept that up.

“Swan,” he warned, “if you don’t control yourself, this may be over before we’ve begun.”

“Godammit, Killian, get these fucking things off me, then!” Emma tugged futilely at her tight cutoffs.

He hooked a finger into one of the many rips in them, and tore them up the center, grinning when she gasped. “Like the dramatic gestures, do we, love?”

“Shut up.” She launched herself at him, rolling them over until he landed on his back, with Emma sitting on top.

 _Splat_.

They both stopped for a moment, trying to see where the sound had come from, when Emma started giggling hysterically, and Killian followed her line of sight down to his waist, where orange paint was oozing out from underneath him.

“You—you landed on—“ she started giggling again.

He smirked. “As you said before, love…leave it.” He slid his thumbs through each side of her lacy boy shorts, and dragged them down her legs, rolling them over again to remove them completely.

 _Squish_. _Splat_.

“Oh!” Emma jerked instinctively when her bare back crushed the vermilion and ochre paint tubes beneath her. Killian laughed, swiping a fingertip through the green and dabbing the end of her nose.

“Killian Jones, stop screwing around and—and _screw_ me!”

“If the lady insists,” he said, shucking his jeans and boxers off in record time, and moving back down to her breasts, lapping at one while his hand caressed the other.

“Fuck,” she moaned, as his tongue did postively sinful things to her. “Fuck, _Killian_.” Her hands curled down into the floor, trying to grasp something, _anything_ , to anchor her.

He looked up, a devilish gleam in his eye. “That’s the idea, right, darling?”

She snorted. “You’re impossible.”

He rose onto his knees, completely flattening and exploding a tube of pink madder all over his left knee and Emma’s thigh. “Come here.” Killian wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling them both to their feet. Her hand landed right in her palette as she struggled to stand, leaving a smattering of rainbow colors across his chest when she went to support herself against him. Emma found her back against the wall again, and she tightened her legs around Killian’s hips to hold herself up.

Killian intertwined their fingers, sliding them up the wall above Emma’s head, and nuzzling at her neck. She gasped when she felt his cock slide against her inner thigh, teasing at the cleft of her sex, and he raised his head.

“Emma,” he said, squeezing her hands. “Emma, are you sure about this?”

“For fuck’s sake, Killian, are you going to make me beg for—“

He thrust forward suddenly, sheathing himself inside her all at once, and smothered the surprised cry that left her mouth with his own. Their foreheads met, while they panted against each other’s lips. Killian truly thought he might pass out as her muscles contracted around him. She was tight as a vise; had that bloody dolt of a fiancé not taken advantage of the gloriousness that was Emma Swan Nolan every chance he was able?!

“Bloody…gods…fucking…lass…”

“Is Captain Snark speechless for once?” Emma gave an experimental roll of her hips, smirking when the nerve in Killian’s jaw twitched. “I’m flattered, Killian, but please… _move_.”

“Apologies, Swan.” He pulled out almost completely, and drove back into her forcefully, her hands escaping his hold to clutch his shoulders, and his next thrust making her nails dig into them.

“God, _yes_.” She captured his lips in a sloppy kiss, breaking it when he moved within her again.

His rhythm faltered when she bit down on his earlobe, and they tumbled back to the floor, Killian landing on his ass (he felt another burst of paint), and Emma’s knees on either side of him. She grinned. “That was for that first night.”

“Hmm?”

“You nipped my earlobe at the end of your routine, I almost fell and you caught me…I thought I was going to come right there.”

“Really?” He couldn’t believe the secretive little siren had been fighting feelings for him since the beginning, though it thoroughly pleased him to know.

“Yup.” She balanced herself, starting to ease down onto him, her head thrown back, eyes closed.

Killian placed both hands against her back, pulling her closer until she was square against his chest. “Emma?” he asked, a strangled sound escaping him when she had fully lowered herself onto him. “Darling, please…please look at me.”

She looked down, seeming surprised at the request, and cupped his face again as she continued to undulate above him. The hesitation in his eyes was plain; Emma was sure suffering so much disappointment and loss at his age would’ve caused natural doubt in any new bond. “You have me, Killian. I’m not going anywhere.”

His sigh sounded a lot like relief, and he bent his head, resting it on her chest as they continued to mirror each other’s movements.

Killian’s breathing grew ragged, and he looked up at Emma with an entirely wrecked expression. “Swan…Emma…I’m close.”

She gripped him tighter. “So, come.”

“No,” he said sternly, “not before you.” He quickly flipped her onto her back, hitching her leg over his shoulder, driving into her impossibly deep.

Emma gritted her teeth; the new angle felt like sheer _heaven_. “Oh, God, Killian—“ She raked the length of his back with her nails just as her orgasm hit, her back bowing up off the floor, his mouth swallowing the high-pitched sob that tore from her throat. Two more forcible thrusts, and Killian fell too, muffling a guttural grunt in Emma’s neck. They collapsed there, legs tangled, unable to move. No sound came from them except mutual, harsh panting.

They both lay on the studio room floor for what felt like forever, boneless and exhausted, with no inclination to get up, though Emma finally nudged Killian weakly with her foot. “We should…we should get cleaned up.”

He laid his head back down, pillowed against her breast, rocking himself into the warm set of thighs cradling him. “But it’s so comfortable here.“

She bucked her hips up. “ _Killian_.”

“That’s not really strengthening your argument, you know.”

“Please—“

“Oh, alright,” he grumbled, getting to his feet and reaching down to pull Emma up and to the shower. He flashed a quick grin. “I’ll show you clean, Swan.”

* * *

His eyes creaked open when his arm found the other side of the bed empty. Bloody hell, he’d never felt more drained in his life. Killian propped himself up on his elbows. “Swan?”

Emma was standing at the window, the moonlight glimmering over the blonde tresses, delicately curving down her shoulder, the willowy contour of her torso, to the firm arc of her arse. She looked wholly ethereal.

 She glanced over her shoulder, smiling at him almost shyly. “Hey.”

He got up, walking over to stand behind her. “I’m sorry, lass, I didn’t mean to invite myself to spend the night. It just so happens you entirely wore me out, and—” He placed his hands lightly on her waist.

“S’alright. You did the same for me.”

Killian moved his hands to her hips, tilting them back towards him. “I’m not done with you yet,” he said, voice gravelly, starting to push into her leisurely. She gripped the windowsill tightly, letting out a soft whimper once he was seated fully inside, head dropping back onto his shoulder.

“That’s right,” he murmured, biting softly at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, rubbing his scruff over the area, marking her. “Let me take care of you.”

Once they both fell, one quickly after another into a sweaty, breathless heap, they dragged themselves back to Emma’s bed. She settled her head on his chest.

“Are you sure you want me to stay?”

“Mmhmm. Stop talking.” She scratched her nails softly through his chest hair as her eyes started to droop.

“I’ll have to get up early to go to work, but I’ll try not to wake you.” He stroked his thumb against her upper arm. “I hate to ask, but…what did the bugger say when you called it quits?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she murmured, draping an arm across his stomach. “Go to sleep.”

* * *

Emma rolled over once the sunlight hit her eyelids, stretching her sore muscles, blushing at memory of how they got that way. She squinted at the piece of scrap paper on her nightstand; Killian had left a note.

 _Thank you for a most vigorous modeling session last night, Swan. I can’t wait to see you this evening. Love, Captain Snark. P.S. I’m completely open to your other kinky ideas, but please leave the paints at home; I don’t think my humble abode can handle your destructive tendencies._ Below that, his address was listed.

She gave the note a double-take. _Love_? It probably meant nothing, people signed off like that all the time. Even so, she stewed over it for awhile longer, tracing the word with a fingertip. She hadn’t felt romantic love, let alone _passion_ , in so long, it was an alien feeling to have someone looking forward to seeing her, desiring her…and her feeling the same way. She sat up with a start at that thought; it was far too soon to be thinking she _loved_ Killian, for Christ’s sake. It had just been sex—mind-numbingly amazing sex—but still….She bit her nail. Well…it wasn’t _just_ sex…. He made her laugh. And listened to her fears, and hopes. And encouraged her….

“Oh, fine!” she exclaimed to her empty room. “I’ll finally end things, and tell Killian I want—want to date him, at least.” She pulled some gym clothes on, and marched out to her car to go break up with Neal once and for all.

* * *

“Why, Miss Nolan. Back again so soon?”

Emma’s stomach did an uneasy flip when Gold answered the door. “Yes…sorry to pop in unannounced, but I was hoping Neal would be home this time.”

“Wrong again, dearie.” He moved back, gestured into the living room. “But please come in. You look like you’ve got something worrying your mind.”

What the hell was a laze-about like Neal doing away from the house two days in a row? Probably banging whatever daytime stripper he was cheating on her with this time, she decided, pleased that she felt nothing at the thought. “I…I could come back—“

“Nonsense,” he said, placing a hand at her back, and swiftly ushering her inside before she knew what had happened. At least, she thought with a fleeting glance around, there weren’t any belligerent possible-escorts hanging about this time.

Gold seated himself across from her, folding his hands on the dining room table. “Perhaps there’s a matter I could assist you in?”

 _Like hell_. “No, it’s more of a…personal matter between us. Do you have an idea of when he’ll be back? Because I—“

A thin imitation of a smile stretched his lips. “This is about the wedding, isn’t it, dearie? You’re thinking of calling the whole thing off.”

What the fuck—could the creepy old man read her mind now? Emma steeled herself; determined not to give him the pleasure of a reaction. “I’m—uh, like I said, it’s between me and—“

“Miss Nolan, please don’t insult my intelligence. I haven’t built a multimillion dollar hotel empire and gotten to where I am today by not learning to read people. Youwant to leave my son in the lurch.”

“Not exactly in the lurch,” she asserted, abandoning all pretense. “It’s still several days before the wedding, and I just thought—“

“You thought—what? That after months of preparation and money spent, you could just walk away? Humiliate our family?”

Emma took a deep breath, trying to subdue the familiar bad temper rising inside her. “Look, Mr. Gold, not that it’s any of your business, but Neal’s been—been seeing other people. For a while now, I suspect. And I’m not going to stand for it anymore. He obviously doesn’t love me, and I sure as hell don’t love him.”

The older man sat back in his chair, a smile of genuine amusement stealing over his features. “Is that right?”

Emma’s mouth dropped open, stupefied. “You _knew_.”

Gold stood up, and limped over to his liquor cabinet. “Forty-year Glenlivet, Miss Nolan? I think you’ll require something strong for the rest of this conversation.”

She didn’t respond to his question, just kept her eyes trained on him, hands folded tightly together. “Explain yourself, Gold.”

He turned around with the two glasses in hand, letting out an eerie giggle. “Oh, it’s plain _Gold_ now, is it? Very authoritative, dearie! I _like_ it.”

The old man settled back into his seat. “I make it my business to know about those close to me, Miss Nolan.” He sighed, actually looking truly weary for a moment. “You can do everything for your child, my dear—give them every contraption they ever wanted, take them to the most exotic locales, send them to the best schools. It’s a humbling day, dearie, when you realize all your sacrifice and efforts were for naught.” He took a dainty sip of his Scotch, setting the glass gently back on the table. “My boy is, shall we say, an apathetic sort. Through no fault of my own, of course—sometimes the apple _does_ just happen to fall far from the tree.”

Emma crossed her arms, giving him a bored look. “And what the hell does this have to do with me?”

He pressed his hands together, pointing both index fingers at her. “One thing my unmotivated son did right in his entire, directionless life, Miss Nolan, was to come across you.” He took another sip. “And somehow, manage to get you to stick around. Most women of your age, wits, and education wouldn’t look twice at my son these days. And probably won’t again.”

Emma glared at him. “Are you trying to insult me, or something? Because, believe me, I’ve had—“

Gold slammed his glass on the table, and Emma jumped. “Listen good, dearie—I haven’t cultivated the success I have, to have it wilt and die after I can’t manage it anymore. Neal will run my business into the ground—I’ve been trying to teach him the tricks of the trade for years, but it’s like banging your head against a brick wall. That’s where you come in, Emma Nolan. _You_ are going to take over Gold Hotels and Estates once I’m incapacitated. It will still be in the family, with an intelligent, respectable—“

An awed laugh escaped Emma, and she held up her hands. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gold, but I’m not staying with, and marrying, your son just for money and power. Plus, I know nothing about business—“

“You’ll learn. And don’t underestimate the power of a lovely figurehead at the forefront of a large company.”

“Still not interested. When it comes to who I end up with, it’ll be because of love…love is more important.”

“Love?” he snorted. “Don’t be preposterous, Miss Nolan—love is but a weakness to overcome.”

She rose from her seat. “Well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me—“

“Sit _down_ , Miss Nolan,” he said, voice hard. “We’re not done here.”

“ _I’m_ done,” she said angrily, turning to leave, until she heard a great sigh come from Gold.

“I didn’t want to have to resort to hardball, dearie, truly I didn’t, but alas, that’s where I find myself. How’re your parents doing these days, Miss Nolan? My assignment with your father seems to be providing plenty of work for him.”

She gave him a wary look. “It has, as far as I can tell.”

“In fact, “ he went on as though she hadn’t spoken, “my contract with him has been taking up a great deal of his time over the past year, and it will for years to come.” He glanced up at her, a flash of pure threat in his eye. “It would be a pity to break it. Why, one might even surmise that could ruin your family—financially, I mean. With your mother retired for years now, and that _charming_ stepmother of hers contributing nothing—“

“You wouldn’t,” she said hoarsely, voice coming out in a whisper.

“—and your dear parents putting up so much of their own incomes to give you a future…tsk, tsk. I believe they still have a ways to go on their mortgage, as well.”

“You’ve been digging into their private concerns? You fucking _worm_!”

“Let me be plain, dearie,” Gold said, “you’re going to marry my son, make the best of it, and keep my business thriving. In return, I won’t pull the rug out from under your family’s livelihood.”

“My—my father has other clients, he’ll—“

“But none as big as me, or with better connections. You may think he can pull through losing my contract, but trust me, I’ll see to it that no one else within a 100 mile radius will hire him, either.”

Emma inhaled sharply. “You can’t—you can’t _do_ that! You’re _insane_.”

“I can’t? Miss Nolan, surely an ambitious young woman like yourself can recognize fortitude in another?”

“I wouldn’t do _this_ to achieve success! I’ve never used—no, _blackmailed_ —another person!”

“Don’t play the wide-eyed pillar of virtue, dearie. You were in a very competitive industry straight out of college. You can’t tell me that you didn’t step on a few backs to get there.”

“No,” Emma seethed. “I didn’t—it’s called talent and knowing the right people. And while I’m at it, I would probably _still_ be in that industry if your son—“

He waved a hand at her. “I find the blame game an altogether bore, Miss Nolan. Don’t waste my time with it.” He rose, striding to the front door, and opening it. “If you show up to the rehearsal dinner in four days’ time, I’ll assume you’ve agreed to my terms. If not…well, you know what will follow. Choose wisely, dearie,” he said in conclusion, shutting the door in her face.

* * *

Emma sat outside Killian’s apartment, well past the time he’d invited her. She gripped her steering wheel until her palms ached. Her stomach continued to pulse in short heaves, leftover from the wracking sobs that had shook her whole frame hours before. She wasn’t going to tell her parents, that much she knew. They’d be livid, insist on calling the wedding off, and be completely on her side, but that wouldn’t save them from Gold’s repercussions. No, she wouldn’t do that to them. But Killian…she squeezed her sore eyes shut. Even if he knew the story, he’d made it plain he wasn’t going to be someone’s sidepiece, and furthermore, she respected him too much now to even try to make something like that work. Even if she waited for the old man to keel over, it would be too late—Killian would be gone. Plus, she suspected Gold had the longevity of a cockroach—he’d probably live into his mid-hundreds. She took one more steadying breath before she swung open the car door and walked up the stairs. The least she could do was give Killian a clear break; he deserved to find an issue-free woman who could make him happy.

Her heart leapt into her throat as soon as Killian opened the door. “I was getting worried, love—you said you’d be here thirty minutes ago! No matter now—“ he broke off, pressing her into the doorframe and kissing her senseless. She put her hands on his chest to push him away, but he only grinned at her, making her feel even worse. He looked like such an eager, happy puppy—if it were possible for puppies to be dead sexy as well.

“Quite right, darling. As much as I’d just like to carry you to the boudoir and have my wicked way with you all night long, I didn’t clean and boil mussels for the past couple hours for nothing.” He walked over to his small kitchen table, picking up a green bottle. “I bought white—do you prefer white or red? The bloke at the wine shop assured me white was the way to go with—“ He broke off when he got back to her, thumbing at the corner of one red-rimmed eye. “You’ve been crying.”

“Killian, we need to talk.”

His gaze was leery. “I’ve found in the past when a woman says that, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

She looked down, digging the toe of her shoe into the carpet. “This isn’t going to work out. Us. I’m going through with the wedding. That’s—that’s just the way things have to be.” Emma peered up through her lashes when she was met with silence, seeing the same muscle in his jaw clench as when he’d spoken about his brother.

“You’re still marrying that—that buffoon?”

“He’s not—“

“Well, Swan, I certainly misjudged you. You really _are_ an accomplished liar. Certainly had me believing that you wanted things to be over on that front, and were looking forward to—well, no matter now. And all for a quick shag to get your last jollies in as a free woman. Kind of went to a lot of trouble there, love.”

Her hands curled into fists. “It’s not like that.”

“Well then, what is it like? I’m all ears.”

“I can’t—it’s hard to explain—“

“Of course it is. Well, let me make it easier—you don’t have to. In fact, you don’t have to do anything as it pertains to me anymore. Go on, lass—go marry the man who treats you like dross, move away, create a perfect little life for yourself. It doesn’t include me.”

If Emma had had any tears left, they would be flowing by now. “Killian, please. Believe me, this isn’t what—“

“ _Believe_ you? I don’t think so, Swan. Look where it’s gotten me thus far.” He turned his back to her, hands in fists at his sides. “I think you should go.”

“Killian—“

“Please _go_.”

* * *

Killian didn’t turn around until he heard the door click softly behind him, walked slowly back to the kitchen and let the wine bottle slip out of his hands to shatter on the tiles. He looked down disinterestedly; the green shards seemed a million miles away through his hazy vision. Vaguely, he hoped the neighbors would call the cops, or better yet, come up to yell at him themselves. He felt like punching someone, wanted a fight in the same way he’d gone looking for them after Liam’s death. After five, ten, then fifteen minutes passed without anyone knocking or screaming outside his place, he staggered into his room, tumbling onto the bed. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, fisting his hands in his hair til it hurt, feeling stupid, _so stupid_ for finally trusting another person after all these years. Well, he wouldn’t be making the same mistake again. It appeared that his lot in life was to be alone, and at this point, he ought to just accept it.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me! Just remember...this isn't the end :)


	9. The Investigation

**2 Days Later**

Someone was pounding loudly on the front door. At least, it seemed like it—at this point, Emma thought it might all be in her mind. The past few days, her head had been pulsing like she had a bad hangover. Her mouth felt like sandpaper, her eyes salty and dry. She pulled the sheets over her head. “Go away!”

She heard some muffled conversation going on for a few seconds longer, then the spare key turning in the lock. She _really_ needed to relocate that thing. Goddammit, couldn’t people get the hint? She jumped up, rounded the doorway into the living room, and bumped right into Ruby and Elsa.

“Emma! What’s going on? You haven’t returned any of our calls since Tuesday! Are you sick?” Elsa pressed a cool palm to her forehead, which Emma swatted away.

“I’m _fine_ —can’t I have a little alone time?”

Ruby stood, studying her through squinted eyes. “You look like hell.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

Elsa pursed her lips, giving her a disapproving glare. “I hope you aren’t going on one of those crazy wedding crash diets. Because those are just a lot of—“

“Wait!” Ruby held out a hand, and Elsa fell silent. She raised her head and sniffed the air, like a dog. “Is that paint?”

After all their years as friends, Emma was used to Ruby’s hypersensitive, canine-like sense of smell, but she hadn’t taken her paints out since—well, in days. Plus, she had the door to the studio room closed.

“It _is_!” Ruby exclaimed, not waiting for an answer. “Have you started up again? Oooh, I wanna see!” She started for the studio.

“Ruby, no!” Emma took off after her, but it was too late—Ruby had swung the door open, Elsa hot on her heels. They both stopped short, taking in the state of the room slowly, eyes wide.

“What the—“

“Ho _ly_ shit—what the hell happened? Did you have a psychotic break, or what?”

Emma turned up her palms. “It was just an accident—“

Elsa stepped up, almost nose-to-nose, studying her. “You’re turning red.” She turned to Ruby. “She’s turning red!”

Ruby crossed her arms, flashing a toothy smile. “Well, well, well…’bout time.”

“What?” Elsa and Emma said simultaneously.

She gestured at the half-finished Killian portrait, which Elsa had overlooked. “Really? C’mon Elsa—she boinked Killian! It’s obvious!”

Emma had to step in at that. “Seriously, Ruby? Boinked? What’re you, twelve?”

“I don’t hear a denial in there.”

She sighed, leaning back against the wall. “Okay, yeah, we…slept together.”

Elsa gestured to the mess. “But, but…how’d all _this_ happen?”

Ruby went and placed her hands on Elsa’s shoulders. “Get your mind into the gutter, woman. They had crazy, uninhibited monkey sex, and took everything in the room with them.” She turned to Emma. “Isn’t that right?”

“You’re not far off,” Emma replied grudgingly.

“Well…” Elsa finally said, looking a little shell-shocked, “I don’t think you’re getting your deposit back.”

A deposit was the least of Emma’s worries at the moment. “It’s—it’ll be fine; turpentine, new paint—“

Elsa’s mouth fell open as her eyes landed on two similarly sized circles of red paint side-by-side. “Is that—is that a _butt_ print?!”

Ruby was huddled over examining a particularly large blotch of cadmium yellow on the wall about the width—okay, it _was_ the width of Killian’s back—like it was the Mona Lisa. “Goddamn, this is probably the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of happening in real life. It’s like _Ghost_ , but with paint instead of clay.”

“ _Not_ helping here. And it was nothing like that.”

“Waaaait a sec.” Ruby turned to Elsa, then looked back at Emma. “We’ve overlooked a glaring red flag here—why aren’t you ecstatically _happy_? And furthermore, why aren’t you still riding that hot piece of ass?” She gave Emma a sympathetic look. “Was the “D” that bad? God, I hate that, when a guy looks like he fucks like a champ, and it turns out—“

“No!” Emma held up her hands. “Hell, no. It—it was good, alright? Unbelievable.”

After a beat, Ruby made the ‘go on’ motion. “Stop holding out on us.” Even Elsa grabbed her arm gleefully. “Yes, we want details!”

Her friends’ enthusiasm finally brought a half-smile to her face. “I mean, well…after we, uh, were done in here, we took a shower. And…and did it again. In there. And then, we went to the bedroom...and did it again—“

“Fuck!” Ruby interjected. “I’m so jealous of you right now, you—“

“ _Shhhh_!” Elsa said, staring at Emma raptly, hands pressed over her heart. “Then what happened?”

“Well, then we fell asleep—“

“Finally!”

“And then we woke up really late—he stayed over—and he said he was exhausted, but that he still wasn’t done with me, and yeah…it happened again.”

“Oh my god, he spent the night?!” Elsa’s glance slid over to Ruby conspiratorially. “When was the last time that happened with—with anyone?”

“I don’t know,” Emma said miserably. God, her chest just _ached_. “Not for a long time.” Breathing suddenly became difficult as she remembered Killian’s work-roughened hands stroking gently down her sides, cupping her ass, swirling his tongue over her nipples until she’d been a trembling wreck, his unwavering gaze as she’d risen above him—

“Emma,” Elsa stepped in front of her, cupping her shoulders, brow creased in worry. “Emma, what’s wrong? If it’s about the wedding, people will just have to understand. You can’t go into marriage lightly, and now that you’ve realized—“

“The wedding’s still on,” Emma broke in bluntly, looking anywhere but directly at her friends.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the three of them, and at last Emma spoke when it was plain that Ruby and Elsa were at a loss for words. “It was just an—an affair, you know? I wanted some fun before I’m with the same, one man for the rest of my life.” She could practically feel her nose growing.

“But I...I thought you liked him,” Elsa finished feebly, trailing off and looking over at Ruby, who for once stayed silent.

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong. He was good for getting one last diversion in before…well, you know. Nothing more.” She made a show of looking at her watch then. “Guys, I’d love to hang out and all, but I’ve…I’ve got my art lesson to plan. I’ll see you for the rehearsal dinner on Saturday, alright?”

* * *

The two girls walked almost in a daze to Ruby’s car, then just sat, not pulling away from the curb.

“I can’t believe it,” Elsa murmured, her shoulders slumping. “I thought, I really thought he was the one to shake her out of—“

“She’s lying, you know,” Ruby interrupted.

“What?”

“Oh, yeah. Lying through her teeth, that punk. Like I wouldn’t be able to tell,” she finished, more to herself. “Problem is, she’s stubborn. We aren’t going to get anything more out of her by just trying to talk to her.”

Elsa threw up her hands in exasperation. “Well, what do you suggest then? A truth potion?”

“Don’t get testy. I think Killian would know a little more on the subject. _But_ I don’t have any way of contacting him, unless it’s through Emma. We can’t fish for any more info through her right now; you know how she is. Saturday’s cutting it close, but—“

“I might be able to help with this,” Elsa cut in, her mouth pressed into a grim line, but she looked reluctant to elaborate.

Ruby gave Elsa’s shoulder a hard jostle with her own. “Well? Spill it!”

Elsa let out a loud exhale. “That—that crude friend of his that came over to the Nolans’ house the other day—Will—well…he put his number in my phone at some point. When I wasn’t looking!” she clarified, seeing the sneaky grin on Ruby’s face.

“Jackpot!” Ruby screeched, leaning over and hugging Elsa fiercely to her chest. “You’re going to call up that ruffian and be the most charming, gracious gal I know you can be—all while pumping him for info, of course. However you want to.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Elsa gave a delicate shiver. “There won’t be any ‘pumping’ other than verbal, that’s for damn sure. He’s so—so _uncouth_ , and—“

“ _Alright_! You don’t have to have his babies, just find out what happened between these two idiots so we can fix it—before they both regret it.”

* * *

“Rise and shine, you bilge rat!” The blinds in the window suddenly shot up to the top of the sill, sunshine flooding Killian’s bedroom. He slapped a hand over his eyes, cursing, moving two fingers the barest crack to see who’d invaded his self-induced cave.

“You heard me!” Will gave a great bounce on the mattress, then jumped off to stand in front of Killian’s face.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

Will gave an offhanded wave. “Not important. Let’s just say, where my mate’s well-being is concerned, I feel at liberty to take certain…liberties.”

Killian put his hand down to give Will the full-force brunt of his heated glower. “You broke in.”

“Breaking in, happening to find the screen loose enough to reach through and open the latch—semantics, my friend.”

Killian rolled over, face down in his pillow. “Piss off.”

Will walked over, stooping and pulling back a corner of the sheet, which Killian immediately snatched back with a growl.

“Bloody Christ, man, you stink to high heaven! When’s the last time you took a shower?”

“That’s none of your concern, mate. And if you don’t like it, you can get the bloody fuck out. In fact, do that anyway.”

Will crossed his arms. “Look, laddie, I get it—the bird did you a bum deal. But, oy, callin’ in sick the past few days—the foreman’s ready to boot ya. I’m still coverin’ for you—“

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you to.”

Will squatted down on his haunches. “You’re lucky I’ve gotta thick skin, my friend, cause right now you’re bein’ a regular—“

Killian turned over suddenly, and even the usually flippant Will didn’t know what to say when he saw the distress etched all over his friend’s face. “She was different, Will. She _was_. This whole tossing me off—it isn’t the Emma I got to know.”

Will sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, carefully trying to construct his next words so they didn’t land him a beating. “Mate, you’ve known this girl, what? A month? You can’t know someone—“

“I did. I know it sounds crazy, but…I’ve never connected with someone the way I did with her. And I know she felt the same. Just they way we could talk so plainly, and when we made lo—“

“Good God, I’m in a bloody ‘Sex and the City’ episode,” Will grumbled. He lumbered to his feet. “If I stick around any longer, I’ll start retching. But look here, Charlotte, take it from a Miranda—buck up, and get her outta yer skull. Go out there this weekend, strut out onto that stage, and you’re goin’ to pick up one of those tarts that throws their knickers at you, take her home, and roger the—“

He broke off abruptly as his pocket vibrated. “Hold that thought, mate. ‘Ello?”

Killian tuned him out, rolling on his back and gazing blankly at the ceiling while Will talked to his caller. After just a short minute, Will hung up and practically trotted back over to Killian.

“Have to run, mate. I’ve a date with destiny—not the Destiny I met at Spearmint Rhino last week, one by the name of Elsa. Your swan girl’s friend.”

“She’s not my anything now.”

Will reached down and patted Killian briskly on the foot before he could launch a kick. “If it makes you feel any better, m’boy, just remember—your dear friend Will will be out there”—he gestured grandly—“somewhere, this evenin’, most likely gettin’ laid.”

“Oh yeah,” Killian snarled, hurling a shoe at Will’s retreating back as he skipped out of the room, “It just warms the cockles of my heart!”

* * *

“Hello, my lovely.”

Elsa looked up from her glass display case, glare already in place. “Don’t call me that.”

Will leaned over, fingers poised to pluck a blueberry-filled truffle from its wax paper, but Elsa gave his hand a hard smack.

“Oy! What’s the deal, lo—Elsa?”

“I didn’t call you up to sample my wares. In fact, I don’t know why we had to meet at all. What I had to ask could have been carried out just fine by—“

“But what’s the fun of a phone call, when I can gaze upon your perfection in person?”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop, I’m prone to swooning, and who’ll serve the customers their gelato if I faint away?”

“Not me, but it’ll probably be short in supply when you come to.”

Elsa walked outside and sat at one of the little iron tables dotting the patio of her sweets shop, waving for Will to join her. “Will, all joking aside—what happened between Emma and Killian?”

The corners of his mouth turned down tightly, eyes hard. “I’ll tell you what—your old lady played my friend for a chump. He’s been a woeful sight these past few days, holed up in his room, not comin’ to work—the bloody excuses I had to come up with! I told him, I tell you, I _told_ him not to get involved with a taken woman, but he—“

Elsa held up a hand to stop him. “Will, it seems that way, but the reason I called is, well…something’s not right. Emma’s in the same state as Killian, and she won’t say what happened. I think, whatever happened…it wasn’t Emma’s choice, no matter what she says.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “How’d ya figure?”

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s just say falsehoods aren’t Emma’s strong suit.” She spread her hands on the table. “I don’t know what’s going on, if Neal’s got something to do with it—are you _sure_ Killian hasn’t said anything?”

“Not a word. He’s a stubborn git, though.”

“Yes, I know the feeling,” Elsa mumbled. She looked up. “I know it’s not a lot of time, but Ruby and I are going to try and get the whole story out of her at the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. Can—can I let you know what we find out? I think whatever the issue is, Killian deserves the truth, and…and they both deserve a shot with each other.”

Will gave her a considering look. “Well, lookie here: you’re not as stoic and icy as you’d have people believe.”

She stood up, tossing her braid back over her shoulder. “I’m loyal to my friends.” She turned back just before she headed back inside. “And, likewise, if you hear anything…please let me know.”

“If I help get these two barmy twats together again—what’ll you give me?”

“ _Give_ you? What a selfless type you are.” Elsa looked idly around her shop. “Maybe I’ll let you pick out a truffle.”

“ _One_ truffle? I take it back, yer no romantic…how ‘bout a kiss instead?”

“You get that once they have their first kid.”

* * *

The whole ceremony prep had passed Emma in a haze. She was only distantly aware of Neal and August whispering dirty jokes to each other, Pastor Hopper getting everyone in formation to  _let’s try this again, folks_ , her parents looking at her worriedly, especially her father when she linked her arm with his to walk down the aisle.

“Everything alright, princess?” he asked quietly on yet another walk-through.

“Mmhmm.” Of course, nothing was alright, and probably would never be again. She hated it, hated this whole business, kept kicking herself for taking Neal back the last time. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be here now, in this hideously ornate cathedral (chosen by Gold), practicing for a wedding to a man she couldn’t stand. What was the point, anyway, of living right on the water and getting married in some closed-up building? Of course, if she’d stayed broken up with Neal, she might never have met Killian. A fat lot of good that did now. Her father gave her a look that said he wasn’t convinced a bit, and squeezed the hand that rested in the crook of his elbow.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

 _If only_. “Right, Dad.”

“I’m serious, if—“

“Folks, you fell out of step. Let’s go back to the beginning, and _please_ no talking this time,” Pastor Hopper entreated.

Regina turned around from her seat in the front pew, glowering at them. “Hurry this farce up; it’s almost 8:30, and I want my dinner!” She thumped her back against the wood with a huff.

Emma forced herself into robot mode, carrying out the rest of the requirements quickly and efficiently, and soon enough everyone was filing into the adjoined hall for the catered dinner her parents had splurged on. Lots of seafood and red meat, fresh salad with walnuts and gorgonzola, truffles from Elsa’s shop that she’d donated, of course. Emma stared at the impressive spread without appetite, but spooned some fruit salad onto her plate to keep anyone from asking tiresome questions.

She leaned against the wall, chewing a piece of honeydew into total mush, trying not to wonder about what Killian was doing at that moment. Once she realized that that effort was futile, she let her mind drift. He’d be starting his first weekend show right about then. Having all those women drooling over him—with a sharp pang, she wondered if he’d start taking random women home again, if he was that angry with her. He’d looked so relieved telling Victor those days were behind him, and the corners of her mouth quirked up at the memory in spite of everything.

Regina sidled up to her, a sly smile on her face. “Well, well, look at that. You’re in love, young lady.”

Emma forced out a tinny-sounding laugh. “Of course I am, Regina. I’m getting married tom—“

“No, no,” Regina dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “Not with _him_. I’ve never seen you with that look on your face before. It’s somebody else.” She smirked, leaned in, whispering, “Is he good in the sack?”

Before Emma could pick her jaw off the floor, Neal sauntered over, and flung an arm around her, facing Regina. “Gran-Gran!”

Regina just stared at him, silent and stony-faced.

He shuffled his feet nervously. “Remember me, Gran? I’m Ne—“

“I know who you are,” she snapped. “I don’t have dementia. And don’t call me that. I’m not your grandmother, and I never will be, you…you… _person_.”

“Not by blood, Gra— _Regina_ , but through—“

“No,” she interrupted again. “Never. Now,”—she thrust her large handbag into Neal’s gut with enough force to make him double over with a wheeze—“hold my things, Person. I’m going to go find the lobster tails.” And she turned on her heel and stalked off.

“One day,” he said, scowling after her, “the worst nursing home money can buy.”

Emma elbowed him in the side. “Stop that. She just hasn’t warmed up to you yet.” She hoped her tone sounded normal, but then again, Neal wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

“It’s been years, babe, how long is it supposed to take?!”

She gave a half-hearted shrug. “You can’t win ‘em all.”

“Mmph,” he grumbled, “I guess.” He swept his hand to encompass the whole room. “Just think, after tomorrow we’ll be leaving all these jerks behind. Won’t it be great?”

Emma swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Oh yeah…great.”

* * *

Ruby sighed as Elsa filled her in. “So your new boyfriend didn’t have any further intel? Geez, these two are perfect for each other—tight-lipped little twerps, both of them!”

“ _Not_ my boyfriend. And don’t give up yet—we’re going to wring the truth out of Emma, tonight, one way or another. We’ve—we’ve _got_ to; it’s our last chance.”

“She’s looked completely tormented all night. What if—what if Neal found out about Killian? And—and in a jealous fury, he’s threatened to kill him if Emma doesn’t marry him? And she’s depressed, cause she’s pregnant by Killian? Then he’ll have to come and crash the wedding, and carry—“ Ruby’s fingertips flittered excitedly around her face.

Elsa just shot her a deadpan look. “Real life isn’t like one of your SoapNet programs, Ruby.”

“Well, excuse me, I’m just trying to look for _some_ kind of explanation for this shitty situation.“

Elsa’s eyes narrowed as she saw Emma disappear down the side hallway, Gold close on her heels.

“I’ll—I’ll be right back,” she said distractedly to Ruby, getting up and following them, stopping short when she got to the turn to go down the left side of the hallway when she heard Gold’s voice.

“I do hope you’re not having second thoughts, dearie. Why, your pallor’s extremely lackluster this evening—don’t want to look like a ghoul in the photos tomorrow, do you?”

“ _No_ ,” came the whispered response, and Elsa’s stomach clenched; it didn’t sound like the Emma she knew.

“Just remember our discussion, Miss Nolan. Think of your family’s comfort, especially your father. Why, he raised that pitiful company out of the trenches, and made something of it. Do you want all that dashed to pieces?”

“I said no, you don’t have to keep reminding me,” came Emma’s voice, a bit more of her usual strength in it.

“I just thought you could use a refresher, the way you were moping around earlier. And don’t think of doing anything cute, like jilting my son at the altar. If you think I mean business now, try a trick like that, and—“

“ _Understood_ ,” Emma bristled. “Get out of my sight.”

There was only a mean-spirited giggle from Gold, before his footsteps started back out the way they’d come. Elsa flattened herself to the wall, but he didn’t glance in her direction. Once he’d gone, she went after Emma.

Emma looked up when she heard Elsa coming, giving a start.

“Emma!” Elsa grasped her friend’s hands. “I heard what that horrible man was saying to you. How come you didn’t tell Ruby and me about this? Or Killian? You know we’d—“

“It’s a done deal,” Emma said in a flat voice. “I’ve made my decision, and it’s the best one for everyone.”

“Best for who?! Not you. Or Kil—“

“Elsa, don’t make this worse.”

“And what about your parents? He’s threatened David’s business? You know they wouldn’t let him get—“

“He’s got way more resources than them, Elsa. He won’t hesitate to take them all down if it means—“ She stopped herself. “You know, the less you know, the better.” She gave Elsa’s shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks for the chocolates. I think I’ll head home early…I’m really tired.”

“Emma—“

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, clearly closing the conversation, and heading back out into the main room at a trot.

Elsa kicked her heel back against the wall. Whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been _this_. Ruby’s wild scenario sounded almost sane compared to Emma’s future father-in-law keeping her on the marriage track against her will through threats on her family.

She stood, trying to collect herself from her frustration for an extra minute, then started out into the hallway, busily scrolling to get to her ‘recent calls’ list. She didn’t care what Emma thought was best, she needed to tell Will what she’d learned. Elsa was certain Killian wouldn’t stand for all this. Maybe when they got to the objections portion of the vows, he could—She’d been so absorbed in her task, she didn’t notice Gold until she nearly walked right into him. He stood, looking at her like she was an amusing bit of prey, blocking her.

“ _Bzz, bzz_ ,” he intoned in a sinister, off-putting key. “Busy little bee you’ve been tonight, haven’t you, Miss Elsa Andersen?”

She gave what she hoped was a serene smile. “I think everyone involved with the wedding has been—“

“So attentive to Miss Nolan tonight, _so_ attentive, you and Miss Lucas. She must be so utterly grateful for friends like you, helping, instructing, listening…whether it’s warranted or not.”

Great, he somehow knew about the eavesdropping. Well, it changed nothing; she was used to bullies from her childhood, and one more at this stage of the game wasn’t going to sway her, no matter how important Gold thought he was.

He took another step closer to her, glancing down at the phone clutched in her hand. “Who could you possibly have to call right this minute, dearie? Aren’t all your nearest and dearest right in the other room?”

“My—my sister, she’s—“

“At nearly 11pm? Curious. Not an emergency, I hope?”

Elsa stood at her full height, looking him straight in the eye. “Not at all. Just typical sibling…stuff.”

Gold gave an irritable sigh. “I’m growing tired of this nonsensical little back-and-forth, Miss Andersen. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” He took another threatening step. “Stay out of my concerns, dearie, or you’ll wish you had.”

Elsa kept her tight smile plastered on her face. “I don’t respond to intimidation, Mr. Gold.”

“It’s odd, you know, how many times I’ve heard that. Never ceases to amuse,” he said, letting out a very fake-sounding chuckle. “Well, I do have my ways.”

Quicker than Elsa could react, Gold smacked his palm up and against the back of her hand, her phone flying into the air a few inches. Unfortunately, that was all he needed, swiftly grabbing it with his other hand.

“Hey!” she protested. “What’d you think you’re doing?” Dammit, he was nimble for an old man.

Gold smiled at her, looking much calmer now. “I think,” he said, slipping her cell into his suit pocket, “I ought to hang onto this for awhile. At least until after this whole arrangement is secure. Can’t have you acting on any grand, heroic notions. I’m sure you understand, don’t you, Miss Andersen?”

* * *

Elsa kept an eye on Gold after they both emerged from the hallway, but he wasn’t letting his guard down for an instant: he wouldn’t remove his suit jacket, or let her get within three yards of him. Not that it would have mattered; she was certainly no accomplished pickpocket. It was time for a different solution.

“Why’re you acting so squirrely? You wanna get out of here now?” Ruby asked after close to another hour had passed, smiling at Elsa sadly.  “Haven’t found out anything on my part—the whole night was like trying to squeeze blood from a stone, and I can’t stand looking at the Golds’ smug faces one more minute. Too bad we didn’t find anything to send to Will.”

Elsa patted Ruby’s shoulder absentmindedly. It was nearly midnight; people were filtering out, but she wasn’t leaving without that phone, or letting Will know what she’d heard. “Hold up a sec, if you don’t mind. I’ve got to use the restroom.”

“Fine, I’ll be out in the car.”

Elsa leaned against the door of the ladies’ room, hands balled into fists. There was no way she was going to concede, not when, barring all else, she was so close to getting Killian to at least know Emma’d had nothing to do with hurting him. After that, well…it was up to them.

She peeked out the door just as Robin, Neal’s new groomsman, emerged from the door that led outside next to the restrooms, reeking of pot and flipping a coin nimbly through his fingers. All at once, Elsa felt like a lightbulb had just appeared over her head: he hadn’t been close to Neal, and consequently Gold, in years, and by his tales at the Nolans the other night, she’d guess he was a resourceful sort. She was also praying for him to be just baked enough to not ask too many questions. It was a long shot, but better to try this guy than accept defeat.

“Robin!” she popped out of the ladies’ quickly, resting a hand on his arm. “It’s Robin, right?”

He looked a bit startled, but smiled. “It is, milady.” His brow wrinkled. “Pardon my saying this, but you look somewhat distressed. Anything wrong?”

She gave an agitated flutter of her hand. “The thing is, I’ve got to leave soon, and my—my phone’s gone missing.”

“Sorry to hear that. I’ll let you know if I—“

Elsa grabbed his sleeve. “No, I mean, it’s not missing—Mr. Gold, you see…well, I’m sure he’s aged considerably since you and Neal were at college together. The poor man’s picked up my phone, and refuses to give it back. Thinks it’s his.” She made a loopy motion in the space near her head, giving a sad smile. “It’s terrible, you know, when elderly folks’ minds start to wander. He’s practically bitten my hand off each time I’ve tried to retrieve it.”

His brow furrowed. “Strange, I haven’t seen an inkling of it…”

“It comes and goes,” she said quickly, and Robin grinned brightly at her.

“Fortunately, milady, you’ve come to the right person.” He clasped her hand comfortingly between both of his. “I’ll have it nicked in no time; my light touch was the skill that made me such a formidable force on the field during my USC football career….” His gaze drifted over her shoulder, eyes going misty.

Elsa cut him off before he started to relive his days of glory. “That, er, sounds like a captivating story. Love to hear it sometime. But, I really need my phone before I leave. You know, tomorrow’s just going to be a madhouse, and—“

“But of course.”

She nearly hugged him. “It’s in his right jacket pocket. I’ll be out in the red Dart in the lot. If you could just bring it over after all’s said and done….”

* * *

A shrill ring broke the silence in Will Scarlet’s apartment, then another, piercing through Will’s unconsciousness.

“Bloody hell…” Will groped at his nightstand, eyes still sealed with sleep. On the third try, he managed to hit the ‘talk’ key. “’Ello?”

“Scarlet!” a familiar voice barked, and Will recognized his foreman’s deep, gruff tone. “Why the hell aren’t you in the yard right now?”

“Sir?” Will was still trying to make sense of his surroundings. He was definitely not a morning person, and he sure as hell wasn’t a wake-up-at-midnight person when he had an early shift the next day.

“You signed on for a double shift, you ass! Remember…Jones? Calling in sick? Ring any bells?”

Will had finally shifted to a sitting position, rubbing his eyes. “Cripes…I mean, I apologize, sir. Be right in, sir.”

The foreman seemed to relax, then: “And how _is_ Jones? Still on the brink of death, according to you?”

“Oh—oh, yes, sir. Spleen’s the size of a watermelon, could bloody pass as the first ever pregnant man, you know, since that other fellow a couple years ago wasn’t really a fellow—“

“I’m not paying you for your observations on yesterday’s news, Scarlet. Just get the hell down here as soon as possible.”

Will groped and stumbled about his bedroom in the dark, throwing on whatever clothes he’d shucked off the day before, grabbing his keys, and bolting out the front door. His phone lay, forgotten, in the bedsheets.

Seven minutes later, Elsa’s name lit up the screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure everyone can guess, but I chose Elsa's last name for Hans Christian Andersen.


	10. The Wedding

Bloody bollocks, but his head hurt something fierce. Killian groaned as he rolled over on his mattress—and right onto the floor. He let out a muffled curse before pulling himself up by the edge of the bed, grabbing his phone and squinting at the screen. Fuck, he had a show that evening and quite possibly the worst hangover of his life. He sat back on his heels, hands clasped over his knees like a meditating monk, closed his eyes and took a deep breath for good measure.

“She’s just a woman, Jones,” Killian said aloud, voice coming out in a scratchy croak. “And it doesn’t matter what you thought—you were wrong. She was like all the rest, just wanted you for a spot of fun. You’re not relationship material, Jones. Never was, never will be.”

He walked to the bathroom, squinting at his unkempt mug in the mirror. It was time to pull it together and stop moping around; he had another job to do, and it wasn’t like there were on-call back-up strippers that would stand in for him for an evening. There were enough pretty boys in this town that would jump to take Killian’s spot at Hollywood Men permanently if he blew the gig off.

He ran a hand over his scruffy jaw. For once, maybe Scarlet was right. He certainly had no inclination to get back to his old ways of heavy partying and boffing whichever shrill-voiced twit came onto him the heaviest on a particular night, but if it would get Swan out of his head…. _Poetic_ , Killian thought, a humorless snort escaping him, having it off with some random girl on the night of Swan’s wedding. His reflection’s mouth set in a firm line, and, steeling himself, he began to wash up and make himself look presentable again.

* * *

“Nothing?” Ruby tugged anxiously on the ends of her hair.

“No.” Elsa threw her cell dejectedly across the Viceroy hotel room to land on the chaise lounge. “I called a few times, and texted…nothing. Either he thinks he’s too cool for a response, or Killian…” She looked at Ruby worriedly, biting her bottom lip. “What if…I don’t know, do you think he’s done with her now?”

Ruby shook her head vehemently. “You know Emma’s not the type to just go after some guy on a whim. There’s something between them, on both sides. I mean, she started painting him for the love of fuck!”

“I know, I guess I’m just worried. Damn that Will Scarlet, I _know_ he’s screwed this up somehow!” She started pacing again, while Ruby crossed over to look down at the street.

“Limo’s here. I can keep Emma busy if you want to try and get to Mary Margaret or David.”

“Mary Margaret’ll be with her; I’ll go talk to David. Plus,” Elsa shrugged with a small smile, “I think a possible beatdown coming from him would scare Gold more.”

She went down the stairs to avoid any possible run-ins on the elevator, unfortunately reaching the bottom just as she saw Gold hasten the whole Nolan family into another car going up.

Elsa waved a hand wildly. “Hey! David! Mary Marg—“

Gold pressed the ‘close door’ button, his reptilian smile stealing over his face as he waved his fingers subtly at Elsa as the door closed in her face.

“Bastard!” She started running back up the stairs, her hair now falling out of the neat bun the hairdresser had tucked it into. Once she reached their floor, she went in the opposite direction, to the room the men were supposed to be prepping in, and knocked. Her face fell when Gold answered the door.

“Sorry, Miss Andersen—don’t you know wedding etiquette? No girlies can see the men before the ceremony.”

“I’m pretty sure that only goes for the bride and groom,” Elsa said, trying to elbow her way past him, but he didn’t let go of his stronghold on the door.

“Uh-uh, dearie, afraid I can’t allow that.”

Elsa gave a little jump, trying to see over his head. “David? David?!”

Gold shot her a look that could curdle milk, calling over his shoulder: “Mr. Booth, Miss Andersen would be just _tickled pink_ if you could escort her back to the ladies’ preparation area. Why, she even bet me you couldn’t carry her full weight the whole way back.” August lumbered over, already looking three sheets to the wind, raking a lewd glance down her form.

“Aw, yeah!” He bent down and hoisted her over his shoulder, starting down the hallway.

“What? No! Put me down, you—you goddamn _ape_!” She hammered her fists on his back and tried to kick him, but it didn’t do any good—he had more mass, and her wispy, slender frame was no match for it.

“Here ya go, sweets!” He dumped her brusquely right inside the doorway of the women’s room, leaning into her personal space. “What do I get for my troubles?”

“I’ll tell you what, you can—“ She poised a knee to drive it into his crotch, but Ruby walked in on the scene and yanked her back.

“That’ll be all, buddy. Beat it.”

“Crazy bitches,” he mumbled, taking off in a hurry.

Elsa turned to Ruby, tears of anger starting to build. “That asshole Gold is stonewalling me! I was trying to find David, but—“

“Haven’t seen Mary Margaret?”

“No. David would have been preferable, but we’re running out of options.”

“Well, when they—“

The suite door opened, and Emma, May Margaret, and Regina strode in, followed by….

“Who’s that?” Ruby murmured, while Elsa shrugged.

Emma indicated the other woman with a lazy wave. “This is, uh, Lacey. Gold’s…friend.” She scowled at Lacey. “You better hurry up, there’s not much time to change.”

Lacey looked down at her super short, hot pink silk dress hanging off one shoulder, black fishnets, and black platforms. “Whaddya mean? What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

“God Almighty,” Regina groaned in answer, sinking into an armchair in the corner, while the makeup artist came and directed Ruby and Elsa off to the next room to paint their faces.

“Wait, but, uh, I have to ask Mary Margaret about—“ Elsa began, but Lacey cut in.

“She’ll still be here when you’re done, Toots. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

That was true, Elsa decided reluctantly. Hopefully by then they’d be able to manage a smaller audience, too. From the look Ruby shot her, she got the feeling neither liked the vibe of this new Lacey woman.

* * *

Mary Margaret looked up from where she was fussing with her corsage pin in the wall mirror, spying Emma behind her via the vanity mirror she sat in front of getting her hair put up. Her eyes looked glazed, the corners of her mouth downturned.

“Emma?” she asked softly, her daughter starting so badly she might as well have hollered it right in her ear. “Is…is something wrong? You know, you can—“

“No! Nothing! What gave you _that_ idea?!”

Mary Margaret sighed, giving up on the corsage and walking over to sit next to Emma on the small bench. “Is it because of what I said to you the other day? About your…friend, and Neal?” She reached over and covered one of Emma’s hands with hers, brow wrinkling at Emma’s answering flinch. “I didn’t mean to upset you, honey. And I’d hate for you to shut me out of something important to you because of it.” She glanced back at Emma’s face in the mirror almost bashfully. “It’s just—you’ve always been so quick to turn crotchety and closed off when I ask the wrong thing, but usually I don’t know I’ve _said_ the wrong thing until—“

“Your child’s just a grouch, Mary Margaret,” Regina stated loudly. “And a sadist—who would pick this horrid suit out for me, but some fiend getting a kick out of my displeasure?” She looked down at her outfit with contempt. “Nothing says ‘cold fish’ like beige. I’ll never get that foxy Daniel Boone specimen to dance with me looking like _this_.”

Emma sighed, starting to turn until the hairdresser held her head firmly in place. “Regina, you couldn’t wear black to a wedding, okay? It’s just…not done. And you refused all the other color choices, so—“

“They were _pastels_!”

“Well, it’s just for today. And don’t hit on Neal’s friend. _Please_.”

Mary Margaret gave Emma’s hand a small tug, not wanting yet another conversation between them to end before she was ready—before they were _both_ ready. “Emma,” she continued in a quieter voice than before, “I know this isn’t the most opportune time for this, but if there’s anything niggling at you about this whole wedding, please…talk to me.” Emma finally looked at her mother, who was gazing down at her lap. Mary Margaret swirled her hand around in midair, gave her head a little shake. “And—and it doesn’t matter to me if you feel…feel something for this Killian, no matter what he does for a living.” She looked up at Emma, tightening her grip on her hand. “I trust your judgment. If—if you like him, there’s a good reason for it.”

Emma’s lips parted slightly, a fizzy, crackling sensation running up her chest. It felt like the words she wanted to say and yet couldn’t say were pushing against each other.

“Mom, the thing is—“

“Whoopsies!” Lacey had appeared at Mary Margaret’s elbow without either of them noticing, and gave an exaggerated totter on her outrageously high heels, arm flinging out and sending the glass of champagne in her hand airborne at them.

“Oh!” Mary Margaret gasped as the champagne, flute and all, cascaded down the front of her dusky rose pantsuit.

“Aw, shit,” Lacey said, feigning chagrin, “my bad!” She grabbed a cloth napkin off the side table, and started swiping at Mary Margaret’s top, hustling her into the bathroom.

Emma’s mouth tightened; that had to have been the most staged-looking accident ever. No wonder Gold had insisted on his plaything joining them for the pre-wedding prep.

“Great!” Regina threw up her hands. “Who the hell let that little—“

Ruby and Elsa came back into the room upon hearing the commotion, eyes roving the room hurriedly.

“Where…where’s your mom?” Elsa asked, hoping the worry building inside her didn’t reflect in her voice. Emma turned as much as the hairdresser would allow, giving them both a strange look.

“She’s in the—“

“Gold’s paid arm candy spilled a drink all over her, clumsy hag,” Regina said, rolling her eyes. “Like this whole shindig isn’t running far enough behind already.”

“ _Heyyyy_ , I heard that!” Lacey screamed from the other side of the door. “I’m telling Dadd—Mr. Gold what you called me!”

“Go ahead!” Regina returned, “I’d like to see him try and deny it.” There was no answer, only the sound of the sink faucet turning on full blast, drowning out any possibility of further debate.

“What’s the matter with you two, are you—“ Emma stopped, glaring at Ruby and Elsa. “I _told_ you to stay out of all this.”

Ruby ignored that, went over and gave a bathroom door a little kick. “I _know_ you did that on purpose, you twat!” Great, now there was no way she or Elsa would be able to hustle Mary Margaret off to a corner to give her the lowdown without Emma or Gold’s eyes and ears getting in the way. “Er, not you, Mary Margaret, that other chick.”

“Ruby Lucas, mind your manners!” Mary Margaret called. “Honestly, what has gotten _into_ everyone today?”

Regina looked between the three other women, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what it is, but something stinks. Of course, it could just be that trollop’s knockoff Chanel No.5, but—”

Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers, Elsa thought. “Actually, Regina, the thing is—“

Emma jumped up from the vanity in alarm so quickly she nearly tripped, just as the wedding planner flew in.

“Ladies, ladies! Come now, we’re behind schedule. Limo, now!” The wild look in her eye had everyone, even Regina, rushing out the door. Lacey, of course, made sure she and Mary Margaret were the last to leave. Before scrambling into the car, Ruby and Elsa gave each other’s hand a short squeeze of mutual understanding.

* * *

Everyone had walked out now, Mary Margaret with a worried look over her shoulder, Regina with a suspicious one, and Ruby and Elsa proceeded only after Emma had given them a push. By the way they were glancing at each other, she still didn’t trust them not to pull some Hail Mary maneuver. She set her quavering hand over David’s, and looked up at him, lips pulled in what she hoped passed for a smile, but she should’ve known better than to think that would fool him, judging by the searching look on his face. Emma dropped her gaze, smoothing her hand down the front of her dress. It had been love at first sight, the strapless number with a fitted bodice unremarkable on its own—if it hadn’t been for the feathers. Long white quills cupped the top of the bodice, while matching plumage completely layered over the belled-out skirt. It had been one detail she wouldn’t budge on, another homage to her old pseudonym. Funny, she thought bitterly, how a part of her Neal had nearly squashed and Killian had revived, would be on display at a wedding to the former. At the thought of Killian, the lump in her throat started to grow again.

“Emma?” Her father’s voice jerked her out of her musings. “Emma, what’s wrong? And don’t say ‘nothing’; I think after nearly thirty years we’re beyond that, don’t you?” He tipped her chin up so she was forced to look right at him. “You don’t want this…do you? To get married to Neal?”

A sob tore unexpectedly from her throat, and she clasped her hands over her mouth, burying her face into her father’s shoulder, not caring about her makeup or his suit, just trying to muffle herself so the congregation couldn’t hear.

His arms came around her immediately. “Oh, Princess, what’s wrong?” He pulled back slightly, a murderous look in his eye. “Has he hit you? Because by god, if he has—“

She gripped his forearms, breath coming out in shuddering gulps. “No, Dad, nothing like that.” Her hold relaxed. “I—I can’t tell you.”

“Why? Has someone threatened you?”

“Not me— _you_ ,” she replied, fully prepared for, and walling up against, any forthcoming outrage and questioning. Instead, David just held her back by her shoulders.

“Whatever Neal—or whoever—has on me, trust me, Princess—it wouldn’t be worth it, your mother and I having to watch you go through the rest of your life in the state you’re in right now.”

And there it was. That clarity she’d needed during these past few horrible days, laid out with such a succinct insight—just like Killian had done at the bar, breaking down Neal to all his man-boy ways.

Still. “But, Dad—“

“I’m serious, Emma. Don’t worry about me. If you’re happy, well…we’ll be, too. Now,” he continued, as she hugged him tightly around his middle, “shall we call this off? I can make an announcement—“

She laid a hand on his arm. “No. Just get me up there, and I’ll deal with it.”

* * *

Butterflies jumped around Emma’s stomach as she tuned out Pastor Hopper’s droning, willing herself to go through with this. She had her father’s word—and when had he ever steered her wrong before? She hadn’t told him any specifics, but she knew once the whole mess blew up, she’d owe her parents an explanation. But above all, she just wanted it to be over so she could try and explain everything to Killian. If he’d even listen to her now.

Her eyes perked up when she heard the right phrase: “If anyone knows a reason why these two should not be wed, speak now, or—“

Ruby and Elsa took a collective step forward, until Emma’s voice rang out.

“I—I have something to say.”

A smattering of whispers stole through everyone gathered, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Mary Margaret turn to David, but Emma continued, her voice growing steadier. “This wedding’s been in the works for a long time now, and…to be honest, I knew it was a mistake from the start, that is, getting engaged to—“

Gold pulled himself up by the back of the pew in front of him. “Now, now…” he turned so he was facing most of the crowd. “Miss Nolan is obviously overwrought from the stress brought on from putting togeth—“

“Quiet!” David had stood up in the front row on Emma’s side of the church. He fixed Gold with a steady, severe stare. “Let her finish.”

“You’re making a big mistake, dearie,” Gold hissed.

“Thanks, Dad,” Emma said, ignoring Gold and forging ahead. “The thing is, Neal—“ As she looked up at Neal’s face, everything else she’d planned to say went out the window—she’d thought she might go with something classy and thoughtful, like how sometimes love just fades, they’d had a good run of things, or something similar. But as she caught the arrogant, smirky expression on his face, anger immediately began to bubble inside her. Angry that it had taken her so long to get to this point, that he’d shattered her confidence, that she’d taken him back one too many times—and this last time could cost her the one thing that had started to look like a light at the end of a long tunnel. Angry at herself for allowing her trepidation at ending things to wind up with Gold Senior screwing her over as well.

“I’m not marrying you. I don’t love you—in fact, I haven’t for a long time, and I know you don’t love me.”

He tried to bluff at first. “Wha—what? I don’t know what—“

God, did he ever stop spewing out the fucking lies? She gave a lighthearted sigh, feeling like a great boulder was rolling off her shoulders. “You know what, Neal? Fuck you.” She heard audience voices start speaking in shocked, hushed tones.

“What?!” Neal squawked, “What did you just say to me?!”

After all this, that was the only thing he could come up with for a response? “I said,” Emma repeated, looking him straight in the eye, accentuating each word with a sharp tap of her bouquet on his chest. “Fuck. You. This isn’t happening. We’re _over_ , for good. God, I can’t believe you were going to let me leave everything—every _body_ —I love behind for an empty marriage.”

“ _Papa_!” Neal turned, looking frantic, finding Gold’s eye in the pews. “Papa, you said I could have my yacht if I went through with it! She’s the one ruining it; I didn’t call anything off!”

Emma’s mouth dropped open. Really? Gold had had to cajole Neal to do all this as well, and with essentially a toy, like some overgrown child? It was just so utterly ridiculous, she felt the corners of her mouth start to turn up, then split into a wide grin, and finally full-on laughter. God, how had it taken her so long to see him for what he really was?

“Oh shit, she’s finally cracked,” Ruby murmured.

Neal looked wholly irked. “What the _hell_ is so funny? Are you fucking laughing at _me_?”

“ _Yes_!” she shouted around her giggling fit, so loudly she could hear it bouncing off the rafters. “But at myself too—for wasting so many years of my life with someone who’s a total _prick_!”

His mouth hung open for a few seconds before he managed to collected himself, lips pressing together so rigidly, they started turning white. “I _want_ my yacht, you bitch, do you know how much—“

He didn’t get to finish. At the second word, David had surged up out of his seat, and crossed the altar in two long strides. Neal only had the time to glance up, puzzled, before David’s fist sent him into a near-360 degree spin and he collapsed like a sack of potatoes. Emma leapt back out of the way as a collective gasp went through the church.

Gold finally pulled himself out of the pew, crawling unceremoniously over Lacey and hobbling towards the altar as fast as his bum leg would allow.

“Have you gone mad?!” he demanded once he got to David.

David shrugged with a deliberately offhand manner. “Nobody speaks to my family like that. I don’t care who they are.”

“You’re finished, Nolan, do you hear me?” Gold snarled. “Not just our contract, in the whole county. I’ll make sure of that.”

David stood, solid as a tree trunk, arms folded tightly (probably to keep from sending Gold to join his son on the floor, Emma thought.)

“As Emma doesn’t seem too happy about the idea of marrying Neal, that sounds like a small price to pay to know that my daughter isn’t living a life of misery.”

A low ‘ _Oooooh_ ’ came from behind her, and Emma fought an eye roll, not even having to look to know who it was. Trust Regina to be a wedding heckler. Gold looked completely livid, his face red as a ripe tomato ready to burst.

“That’s what he said he’d do anyway, Dad, if I didn’t marry Neal—ruin your company,” Emma stated. “Apparently I have the head for helping run his hotel conglomerate that Neal doesn’t.”

“ _What_?” Neal turned to Gold. “Papa, you didn’t—“

“Shut up, boy, adults are talking,” Gold growled, as David broke in.

“So it was _you_? You were trying to force my daughter into this union with your prize of a son for _business_?”

“’Force’ is such an ugly way of putting things, I merely—“

Ruby gave Elsa a subtle nudge with her elbow. “Wow, this is _so_ much better than SoapNet!”

Neal had managed to stagger up onto one foot, kneeling on the other leg. He pointed an accusatory finger to the other side of the altar, at Ruby, and crawled his way towards her, grabbing a fistful of her chiffon dress when he was in reach. “You—you fucking slut, always trying to turn her against me, this is all _your_ fault, you ruined everything, I just know—“

Nobody really saw Victor jump up from his seat a few pews back, not until he took the five steps up to the altar in a single leap, and without hesitation kneed Neal right in the nose, a sickening crunch echoing through the large room. Neal let out a high-pitched wail, dropping to both knees again and clutching his face, blood seeping out through his fingers. This finally proved too much for Lacey, who gave an ear-piercing scream when she saw the blood, and fainted sideways into the aisle, skirt hitched up over her pantyhose.

Victor turned a tentative gaze on the crowd, looking absolutely terrified.

“I—I _told_ him, if he spoke to her like that _one_ more time, I—I’d—I mean, he was _warned_ …“ He trailed off, hands gesturing wildly.

“ _Baby_!” Ruby stormed over to him, and he cringed, no doubt anticipating some kind of verbal or physical backlash. Nobody expected Ruby to grip his shoulders for leverage to jump up and wrap her legs around his waist.

“That’s the _sweetest_ , most _romantic_ thing anyone’s ever done for me!” She lowered her mouth to his, practically devouring his lips with her own, as he stumbled under her sudden weight, turning to brace her against the side of the altar.

Ruby paused to catch her breath, clutching Victor’s cheeks. “I know we’ve said let’s stick to casual sex, but why don’t—“

“Excuse me! _Excuse me_!” Poor Pastor Hopper was beet red, looking absolutely scandalized. “Is anyone here getting married today?! _Anyone_?”

Ruby’s eyes went wide, and she gave Victor a little push back. “Oh, hell no! I mean, not yet, I think we—“

Emma bit back a smile. “Ruby, I think he means…uh, us.” She finished awkwardly, gesturing at Neal. “And, no. Not me. Not to him…ever.” She turned towards her parents. “I’m so sorry, Mom, Dad…I tried, I really did, but…” she shrugged. “I can’t. I’ll—I’ll explain everything.”

“Emma, it’s alright,” Mary Margaret insisted, “let’s just go home, honey, and we can—“

But she couldn’t just go home with Mary Margaret and David; there was something imperative she had to do first. “I—I can’t. I have to go. There’s...somebody I really need to see first.” She started walking down the altar stairs, up the aisle.

“But, Emma—“ Mary Margaret looked completely befuddled. Emma hated leaving her parents in the dark again, but she really needed to try and fix the whole…whatever she and Killian were first, before it was too late. She hadn’t thought too far ahead about how exactly that would happen—she didn’t have her phone (she doubted he’d answer her call anyway), no car, no money. Surely if the city buses allowed the bums and drunks to ride for free, they could make one concession for a desperate woman in a giant dress—

“Emma!”

She whirled around, just in time to catch an object flying at her face, closing her fingers around it. Cold, sharp, metallic—keys. She looked up to see Regina smirking at her.

“Get out of here, Nolan. Go find your man, apologize, and get him to take you back. Swallow that pride…although, I’ve found in apologizing to significant others, a whole other type of swallowing can be beneficial—“

“ _Ms. Mills_!” Pastor Hopper looked ready to faint, while Mary Margaret whispered some kind of fierce rebuke, going by her expression.

“Hold up,” Emma’s godfather, Leroy, cut in, confusion on his face. Emma was sure plenty of people who weren’t in earshot were wondering what the hell was going on. “So she _ain’t_ marryin’ this guy right here?” He jerked a thumb at Neal’s crumpled form.

“God no, she’s in love!” Ruby shrieked, flinging her arms out to the side, her bouquet flying loose and careening towards peoples’ heads in Gold’s section of pews. “With a _hot_ stripper!” She sunk from Victor’s grip to the altar steps with a dreamy sigh.

“A _what_?!” David and Gold both yelled simultaneously.

“Wait—“ David turned to his wife, confused. “Are we still talking about a man here?”

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. “David, _really_.”

“I don’t care if it’s a man, a woman, a Martian!” Gold growled, tone steely. “No little tramp is leaving my son for a strip—“

And with that, David obliged Gold’s apparent wish to join Neal.

“Emma,” Regina said warningly, arms folded. “Get along now. Gold’ll have the pigs show up when he comes to, and then you’ll be stuck here for who knows how long.”

Emma looked back down at the set of keys and back at Regina wonderingly. “But—but Regina, your car—“

“Get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”

She didn’t have to be told twice. Taking up as large a handful of dress as she could manage, Emma sprinted down the aisle and into the parking lot.

* * *

A stunned silence had descended on everyone remaining, questions being asked throughout, though most had no idea what was going on, Mary Margaret pulling on David’s sleeve and asking him  _what just happened?_ , Ruby and Victor making out, Elsa staring after Emma’s trail with a beaming smile frozen on her face, Neal and Gold coming to and tenderly feeling their faces for injuries.

“Well!” a voice boomed, and everyone in the church started, turning toward the source. Regina snatched off her lily corsage pinned onto her suit, throwing it violently to the ground. “This has been a colossal waste of a summer afternoon! But we certainly don’t have to let the food spoil. Folks—“ she waved both her hands towards her as she started to walk, “I’m headed to the Viceroy ballroom as originally planned. No need to let something like a runaway bride affect trays of catering and an open bar. Everyone that isn’t in that imp’s pocket”—she motioned towards the dour-looking group of people on Gold’s side—“is welcome to join.” People started murmuring, then steadily began filtering out to the parking lot.

Regina snapped her fingers in the direction of the groomsmen, and held out her arm at an angle. “You, Marco Polo! Come escort me to the recep—well, let’s just call it a fancy supper now, shall we?”

Robin dutifully walked over and linked arms with her, but leaned down to whisper: “I’m afraid, Madam, that I don’t have any, ah…motorized transportation.”

A slow smile stole over her face. “Well, I guess we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each on the walk over then, won’t we?”

* * *

Emma clutched the car’s wheel excitedly, willing herself to stay at a proper speed. The last thing she needed now was to get pulled over and delayed any further; she was sure she looked strange enough already, caught in weekend freeway traffic in a pink Cadillac with a wedding dress billowing over the sides.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she urged the crawling cars impatiently, tapping her fingers.

* * *

In Long Beach, Killian gave himself a final once-over, smoothing his hair into place before leaving for work and, he hoped, finding some welcome distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I went a little crazysauce with this part. But if you can't have fun with the climax of your own fic, when can you?


	11. The Aftermath

God, this sucked, Emma thought, this really freakin’ sucked. If this was some crappy romcom, she’d be flying down the blissfully deserted freeway, her veil flying out picturesquely behind her, and make it to Killian’s place in record time. Then as she reached the top of the staircase, his door would fly open cause he’d know she was there (they always just _knew_ ), and they’d jump into each others’ arms, no questions asked. And then….

A loud honk behind her jolted her out of _that_ fantasy. This wasn’t a crappy romcom—her veil had flown off miles ago, the traffic was at a typical, end-of-the-weekend crawl, which gave the cars around Emma ample opportunity for blatant staring, and the convertible hood was stuck, leaving her face with sweaty drops running down it in the June heat.

“This is not how it’s supposed to go,” she grumbled, smacking the steering wheel angrily.

“Hey, baby!” The umpteenth strange guy in a flatbed truck was hollering at her. “If you don’t have a groom yet, how ‘bout—“

“Fuck off!” Emma roared, and it must have been the irate expression on her flushed red face and deranged glint in her eye that had the guy turn back to face forward, and roll up his window without a retort. Whatever, her patience was at a negative level—all that mattered was getting to Killian as soon as she could. No matter how he reacted, she couldn’t take the thought of him thinking it was her choice to push him away one moment longer.

She really _did_ hope he’d understand, though.

* * *

Emma pulled up with a screech to the curb right in front of Killian’s complex, double-parking some other car. She hit the emergency lights quickly, then hefted her dress up and climbed out of the Cadillac.

“Killian, the thing is—I mean, of course I never wanted to—you see, Gold forced me to, oh, Gold is Neal’s father—“ Ugh, a twenty second climb up some stairs wasn’t nearly enough time to craft together a decent apology-slash-explanation. She quit mumbling as she got to Killian’s apartment door, deciding to just say as much as she could spill out, if he would even listen to her.

“Killian!” she rapped twice on the door, then when there was no response, glanced sideways at the window. The blinds were down, and she couldn’t tell if there was a light on inside. “Killian!” This time, she pounded both fists, raising her voice. “Please! I—I really need to talk to you!” Still silence. She wondered if he was out, or just really couldn’t even stand the sight of her now. “Dammit!” She slapped one palm against the door. “I know you must hate me, but I really—“

Someone clearing their throat had her jump and look towards the left; a teenaged girl lounged in the doorway of the unit two down from Killian’s, eyeing Emma detachedly and chomping on a large wad of gum. She tried to calm herself; she must look like a complete loon. She ceased the pounding, and smoothed her hands down the front of her dress.

“Hi…sorry, but do you know the man that lives here?”

The girl stood a little straighter. “Mr. Jones? Sure. He’s hot.” She gave Emma a once-over. “Who’re you, a crazy ex? Did he dump you at the altar?”

“ _No_ ,” Emma started before she forced herself to take a deep breath. It wouldn’t do any good to start arguing with one of Killian’s neighbors, especially a kid. “I…I’ve made a big mistake, and I have to apologize to him. As soon as possible.” She shot the girl what she hoped was an entreating look.

The girl seemed to be weighing several responses in her head, before sighing and saying: “He’s at his night job. I dunno what it is; I saw him leaving for it before and asked, but he told me”—she pitched her voice lower, feigning an awful British accent—“ ‘Never you mind, lass’.”

 _Of course, duh_. “Thank you!” She ran back down the stairs, and hurdled over the convertible’s driver door as best she could in a giant dress, the back of it nearly flipping over her head. She had to get to Hollywood, preferably before the performances began. She knew she had no right, but she couldn’t stand the thought of Killian wrapping himself around some indiscriminate bimbo, no matter how fleeting the encounter. But now that he felt that—okay, she _had_ —betrayed him, what if he—?

 _Stay focused, Emma. You’ll make it_. 

* * *

Even on a Sunday night, getting into Hollywood was a goddamn nightmare. Emma sped the car up the ramp of the Hollywood and Highland parking complex, and pulled into a spot.  _Dammit_ . She had nothing on her that one needed to get into a place like Hollywood Men. She didn’t have her ID, but she hoped the bouncer would deem someone old enough to marry, old enough to see nearly naked men shimmying around a stage. Money, though, would be a problem. Emma opened the glove compartment, started to rifle through the contents. Regina was always well-prepared, maybe she had some emergency credit card stashed somewhere, and if she were doubly lucky—she switched to looking through the armrest—the hostess wouldn’t check the name on it. She sat back, gave a huff; nothing in the armrest either. Finally, she opened the sunglasses case—and came out with a crisp $100 bill. She gave a small squeal of joy, clutching the money and blessing the crafty old bat who would probably kill her when all this was over. She made it out of the garage, dress dragging, and ignored the stares and whispers as she ran up the escalator at the complex, trying not to worry.

Luckily, all she got was a strange look from the bouncer, but she wasn’t asked to show any kind of identification. Once inside the club, she floundered over to the dance request table, pushing aside a couple girls idling in front of it, grabbing the sides and trying to catch her breath. The promo girl looked up, looking like she was about to tell her off for her rudeness, until she took in Emma’s appearance.

“Oh…oh, wow. You really went all out for your last hurrah, didn’t you? Looks like you tore a part of your—“

Emma waved her hand. “Forget the dress. I need to speak to Killian Jones.”

“It’s less than ten minutes til showtime! Sorry, but no way can we swing that. No civilians behind the scenes allowed, anyways.”

She slapped down Regina’s $100 bill on the table. “Fine, then I wanna buy—I _need_ to buy—a dance.”

The promo girl looked over Emma’s shoulder. “It’s usually customary for the Maid of Honor to buy…uh, where’s the rest of your party?”

“Nobody else; it’s just me.”

“Um, okay—“

“And I need Killian Jones for the dancer.”

At this, the girl pursed her lips. “All of the guys are very talented; we don’t really take dancer requests.” She fixed Emma with a judgy look. “This isn’t exactly a place that gets… _regulars_ , you know.”

Emma was never really the type to show emotion in public, but if it got her to Killian, so be it. She suspected just throttling the promo girl wouldn’t get her anywhere but jail, so she screwed up her face in what she hoped passed for on-the-brink-of tears—she told herself it was acting. “Please…I need to tell Killian I made a mistake, I’m sorry, and…and I want to be with him.”

She saw the pieces start to fall together in the promo girl’s head. “Wait, did you _leave_ some other guy at the altar for Jones?!”

“No. Yes. Well, partly. And I don’t know if he’ll want me now, but—but I have to try.”

“Hey, Maria!” the girl called over her shoulder to the second promo girl writing down names for the dances, “This chick left her fiancé at the altar for Killian!”

The other girl looked up, a shocked smile stealing over her face when she saw Emma. “Oh my god, really? How _sweeeeet_ ; it’s just like a movie!”

“Yeah, sure,” Emma said, starting to feel self-conscious with everyone else filing in who were stopping to gawk at her. “So…can I…can we make this happen?”

The first girl swiped the bill off the table. “You know dances are $50, right? So…you want two?”

Emma’s heart beat erratically; another obstacle crossed, but now she really had to follow this thing through. “No, just one—if he doesn’t want to listen to me during the one dance, I’ll…I’ll go.”

“Suit yourself. And your name, miss? For the MC to call?”

“Emma…Emma Swan.”

She stood back in the shadows, instead of at the front where all the other people who had dances coming up were. She wasn’t sure when she was up, and if Killian was waiting behind a curtain, instead of a back room, Emma didn’t want to alert him and have him run out on her before she’d had a chance to say her piece. She waited through two sets, eyes glazed over, not really watching, more intent on keeping her ears primed for her name. It turned out she was the third one up.

“Emma Swan? Is there an Emma Swan with us tonight?”

Her stomach lurched as the déjà vu washed over her; she had no idea how she made it to the stage, pulling herself up the few steps with her sweaty palms sliding on the railing. _Godammit, Emma_ , she said angrily to herself, _don’t chicken out now. Or throw up. Or pass out. None of those_.

She collapsed onto the chair placed center stage, gripping the sides so hard her knuckles ached, staring out into the sea of faces to distract her. Bad idea; even with the loud music blasting, Emma would swear she could hear a pin drop in there, going by the audience’s confused, open-mouthed looks. _Alright then, don’t look at them. Just think…think about Killian._

Emma only had time for one more fortifying breath before the house lights dimmed, and the blinding spotlight clicked on above her.

* * *

“Jones, your set’s up! What the hell are you doing staring into space?” The last stripper who’d been up, Apollo, passed behind Killian, snapping the toga he’d shed in his set against Killian’s backside with a loud  _thwack_ .

“Bloody fuck! Thanks, mate, thanks a whole hell—“

“Just get out there before you run the whole show behind, Notting Hill.”

Grumbling a few more expletives as he emerged from the right wing, Killian strode dutifully up behind his charge for the night, his brows furrowing together more and more the closer he got. There was something familiar about that tangled blonde hair, the set of the girl’s shoulders. And showing up in a full wedding dress…it was certainly very odd. Whatever it was, it had a feeling of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. He shrugged it off as he came up flush against her back; obviously the past few days of inactivity had made him delirious. There was no way…no way….

He checked a sigh before it became audible, willing himself to turn on the charm. _On with it, Jones. You’ve done this a million times before_ her _, and you’ll do it a million after_. Killian leaned down, cupped the woman’s shoulders and rubbing his calloused thumbs over the warm skin. He tilted his lips towards her ear. “Hello, lo—“

The woman turned her head, and the rest of his opener died in his throat. She gave him a meek smile. “Hi, Killian.”

He nearly snatched his hands away, feeling as through he’d just been delivered an electric shock, but he didn’t want to let her see how rattled he was. What kind of a bloody fucking joke was this, now? After she’d thrown him off, he’d determined she was fickle, but he’d never have taken her for cruel. Apparently, he’d been wrong in that arena as well. He gripped her shoulders even tighter, hissing his return greeting. “ _Swan_.”

“Killian, I had to see you, I need—“

“Oh, I know what you _need_ , love. Did you think I’d forgotten the date of your nuptials? And here you are on your illustrious wedding night for another round with the stripper. What must your new husband think of such wanton behavior?” Noticing a few people in the front row looking at them in confusion, Killian unfroze and jerked Emma to her feet, far more roughly than necessary.

“Oof!” She hit his chest, and raised her hands to push herself off him, but he grabbed her wrists. “Killian, I really—“

He held her wrists tightly against his front. “Now, now, Swan, you paid for an arousing dance from the hot bobby, and I never leave a desperate housewife wanting.” He released one hand to reach down and give her ass a careless squeeze, giddy screams erupting from the audience. Plastering a grin on his face, he ripped his shirt off, still not letting go of Emma. She was on _his_ turf now, and whatever she was on about, he wasn’t going to let her wriggle cleanly out of it.

She gave another jerk in his iron grip. “Killian, listen to me! I came to—“

“No, no I don’t think I will. You seduce me one minute, throw me off the next, and I’m supposed to just _listen_ when you breeze in on your wedding day to toy with me—“ Now he let go of her, backing away. “Right, I think I’m _done_ listening, Swan.”

 _Oh, no_ , Emma thought. She hadn’t gone through all this just to have him completely refuse to hear her out. He wasn’t getting away that easily. If he heard everything, and still wanted nothing to do with her…well, she wouldn’t like it, but at least all the cards would be on the table. Furiously, she followed his retreating steps, and with no small difficulty, hefted one leg out from under her dress, hitching it over Killian’s hip to trap him against her. He stumbled, instinctively reaching down and cupping her ass before they both fell down, and regained his balance, leaning back into one of the poles that were on either side of the stage for the strippers to utilize. _Now_ people were starting to catch on that something was off—the stripper’d stopped his dance, and what appeared to be a crazy patron was manhandling him.

“Hey, is this part of the show?”

“What’s going on up there?”

Killian stared down at her, eyebrows knitted. “What the—bloody hell, Swan, are you on something? I mean, I admire your show of dexterity, this isn’t the first time you’ve subjected me to it, but—“

“Stop it!” Emma shouted angrily. “I—I didn’t get married today, you jackass!”

Of course, _that’s_ when they finally cut the music, Emma’s declaration echoing loudly over the entire room. The MC, noticing the curious stares from the audience and not one to miss out on an opportunity for unplanned entertainment, surreptitiously made it onto the stage, pushing his mic into a stand.

“Killian,” he called, “if you’re going to air your personal business at work, you’re going to share it with everyone else.”

Killian glared at him. “I most certainly bloody well will no—“

“It’s okay,” Emma said. “Go on over; this seems to be the day I make a fool of myself in front of large crowds.” She wrapped her other leg around him, twined her arms around his neck. She’d caught him, and now was her chance.

The barest hint of a smirk ghosted over Killian’s face. “Not going to release me until you’ve said your piece, are you?”

She tightened her hold. “Nope.”

He made a tsking sound, but staggered them over to the mic. “Alright, Swan, you’ve cornered me. What’s the story?”

She drew in a shaky breath. “In a nutshell—I’d made up my mind not to marry Neal the same day I told you I was still marrying him, you know, uh, after we…slept together—“ A few enthusiastic hoots came from the crowd.

Killian ignored them, cocked a brow. “And? What changed your mind?”

“This sounds completely fake, but believe it or not, Neal’s father blackmailed me to. Apparently he knows Neal’s as big a fuck-up as much as everyone else, and wanted me as an apprentice in his business ventures. He thought Neal would run him into the ground when he was ready to take over.”

“Well, how did he make you go through—well, _almost_ through—with it?”

“He—he threatened to ruin my dad’s business. He’s got a lot of influence, and muscle, and—I was afraid he’d fuck up my family’s life, okay?”

A few comments tittered up from the crowd, like “Damn!” and “Is this for real?” and “This is great!” But Killian continued to keep a hard gaze on Emma.

“Something obviously changed your mind back at the last minute.”

She sighed. “I broke down at the last minute, and told my dad just as he was about to walk me down the aisle. And then I told Neal off, right at the altar. I’d been trying to shoulder the whole burden, and he just put things in such a clear perspective, like—like you’ve done.” She closed her eyes, swallowed tensely. “I—I should’ve told you right from the start. And I’m sorry I didn’t. Sorry I treated you the way I did. I just thought I was trapped, and I didn’t want to bring you down, too. I thought you wouldn’t want to bother with me…with the whole mess.”

Well, there it was—everything. The audience was strangely silent. Emma opened her eyes again slowly, fearfully anticipating Killian’s reaction. She was startled by the soft expression on his face: the lines around his eyes and mouth had relaxed, and he let out what almost sounded like a chuckle.

“You were right, you know, Swan,” he chastised.

“About not wanting to bother with me?” she gulped.

He snorted. “ _No_ , you bloody, silly—about telling me! Did you really think I’d let some odious old man tie you down to his equally odious son?”

Tears of relief leaked from the corners of Emma’s eyes. “I—I don’t know what I thought. It all sounds so easily dealt with, when you put it like that.” She trailed one hand from his neck up to his cheek. “So, you…you believe me?”

“Well,” Killian said slowly, reaching up to thoughtfully scratch his ear. “Aye, that’s a truly fantastical story, to be sure. So much so…I don’t think you could have made all that up.”

Emma bristled. “What, you think I’m not _creative_ enough? You listen here, Killian Jones—“

Killian rolled his eyes, settled his arms around her waist firmly. “Swan, did you come here to apologize or segue right into our next disagreement? Because I’m getting a bit whiplashed here.”

She flushed. “Sorry again.”

He moved his hands up to palm her cheeks, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. “Stop saying ‘sorry’, you infuriating woman,” he ordered, moving his thumb to the dent in her chin, rubbing softly.

“Kiss each other, you idiots!” a woman screamed from the front row, answered by resounding cheers.

Emma gave a nervous giggle. “You know, Killian…all this has happened in a little less than a month. _I’m_ feeling whiplashed just thinking about it.”

“So stop thinking,” he murmured over her lips, just before he lowered his mouth to hers. She opened up to him, pressing their tongues together, releasing a small sigh into his mouth, marveling again at how they just _fit_ , how natural everything between them had felt from the beginning.

They were both only distantly aware of the screeching going on in the background of their kiss, until they started to get pelted with bachelorette party favors—plastic wands, streamers, dildo balloons. They both looked up, stupid grins on their faces, to everyone—patrons, staff, other strippers—applauding wildly, the promo girls holding on to each other and hopping in place.

Finally, another woman stood up. “This is cute and all, but can the rest of us get back to seeing some naked guys? Please?”

Killian laughed, along with the rest of the room. “She has a point.” He was red-faced, beads of sweat breaking out along his forehead. “Emma, I consider myself a fit male specimen, but this dress weighs a bloody ton! I don’t know why you women make yourselves suffer in these.”

“Oops!” Emma jumped down from his hold, and Killian pulled them behind the curtain, towards the dressing room.

“Let me just pack up, and…well, I don’t want to presume. Do you want to spend the rest of the night with me, Emma?”

She twined her arms around his back. “Oh, fuck yes.”

* * *

They only woke up when the sun shone through Emma’s half-raised blinds. The sheets were twisted around their bare bodies, limbs equally twisted together, Emma’s cheek against Killian’s chest, his chin on top of her head. For a minute, as sleep clung to her, Emma thought last night might have been one weird, wonderful dream, and she was waking up in her marital bed. Her fingers dug into Killian’s side in a momentary panic, but she lifted her head, reassuring herself.

“Oy!” Killian protested groggily. “No tickling, Swan. I move to add that as a stipulation of this relationship proceeding.”

She grinned, crawling up until their faces were level. “So we’re in a relationship now, are we, Mr. Jones?”

“Well,” he scoffed, “I hardly think you would’ve gone and put on a show like you did last night, and clung to me like a sloth on a tree branch, for someone you wanted to just boff once more and never see again.”

She smacked his arm. “I did _not_ do that! And, sounds like you underestimate my love for ‘boffing’,” she teased.

“Right, that’s it. Looks like I’ll have to put you in your place,” Killian responded, rolling over to pin Emma to the mattress, and running his fingertips lightly over her ribs.

“Hey!” she cried, squirming. “I thought you said no tickling!”

“No tickling _me_ , Swan.”

“Stop that, stop that right now, Killian, or this is going to escalate!” she yelped. “Do you really want me surprising you with tickle attacks? Don’t think just because we’re…we’re seeing each other, that I’ll show you any mercy.”

He groaned, rolling over onto his back. “Alright, you win,” he conceded, folding his arms behind his head.

“Oh, shit!” Emma suddenly sat bolt upright. They really should have a talk about this whole ‘relationship’ thing, but there _were_ people she owed a more in-depth explanation to.

“What?”

“My family…my friends…I have to tell them everything, about yesterday. I kinda…skipped out without explaining. And Regina’s car…I’m sure she’s having a conniption about it.”

“That car is ridiculous. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so emasculated by an inanimate object as when I was riding shotgun in that thing.”

“Yeah, well, ‘that car’ got me to you last night. She’ll probably demand my kidney as payment, but—“

“Aye, but what’s one less kidney when you have me?” Killian beamed his most ingratiating smile.

“Dork.”

* * *

“Emma!” Mary Margaret enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug as soon as she stepped through the door. “Oh my god, are you alright? Your father explained what he knew, but—“

“Mom, Mom, I’m fine,” Emma assured her.

“Well, at least sit down and have some breakfast with us. I want you to fill in some of the holes for us.”

Inwardly she groaned, but Emma knew she couldn’t get out of it. David was already seated in the kitchen, and Mary Margaret sat next to him, both looking at her expectantly. Emma sighed, and began. She’d told her mother the Killian side of things, and her dad the Gold/Neal/business side—it was just a matter of filling them in together. When she was done, her mother looked absolutely agog, and David, she could tell, was more curious about ‘this stripper person’ than anything having to do with his company. She could tell he was pretty miffed at not being confided in, looking so forlorn that Emma laid a hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just, well…dads and boy talk don’t really mix.”

“Yeah. I understand,” he said gruffly, but he still didn’t look too happy. “But…I mean…you just cancelled a wedding. Do you really have to jump into something new right away with this—this stripper?”

“Dad, don’t call him that. That’s how I met Killian, but he’s so much more than a job. And really, he was the one who first showed me what a mistake I was making. I was just too stubborn to see it. Killian’s not—I won’t _let_ him be the reason for all this. But ever since I met him, I realized there’s at least one person out there who believes I’m not a failure, that I can get back on my feet, and not just live out the rest of my life as some—some trophy wife.”

Mary Margaret looked like someone had slapped her. “Emma, your father and I have _always_ believed in you. Honey, I had no idea you were even _thinking_ like this—how come you never came to us?”

“I mean,” David broke in, “surely you must have known we’d never have let that troll carry out what he was planning.”

“You guys already sacrificed so much for me, all that tuition, and supplies, and my rent…how could I tell you—“

Her mother rose and came around to her side of the table, hugging Emma’s head to her chest. “We did all that for your happiness. And if you’re not happy, well then, none of that matters. Money is just a means to an end…and I don’t want my daughter feeling indebted.

“But—but what’s going to happen to the company now? You know Gold doesn’t make idle threats, and I’m sure he won’t be lenient after you punched him.”

“Oh, that,” David mumbled, he and Mary Margaret exchanging glances.

“ _What_?” Emma demanded, worried. “God, did he blacklist you throughout the _state_ too, or something?”

“No, no, nothing like that—“ Mary Margaret began.

“In fact, it’s not bad news at all,” David continued. “I’m sure you guessed that most of that fun-looking group of people on Gold’s side of the church are related to him through business. Well…turns out, threatening a young lady, and her family, on her wedding day doesn’t go over too well with most people. The majority of his guests actually came to the reception—Regina insisted on carrying it out—and personally told me that Gold wouldn’t keep them from patronizing Nolan Construction. Apparently Gold’s burned one too many bridges, and for a lot of people, that wedding was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“Your father’s built himself up well in the community after all these years,” Mary Margaret smiled. “You really _do_ catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

“That’s—that’s great,” Emma said, feeling eternally grateful to those strangers who’d had enough of Gold’s shit. “But what about the other stuff? I mean, you did knock out Gold and Neal out. Didn’t the cops come?”

Her parents both got up, and started putting a plate of food together for her, and helping themselves to more. “Oh, they came,” David said. “But again, it paid off for your good old dad, building a good repertoire throughout L.A. Of course, there were still witnesses for Gold, so they had to do _something_ —“

Mary Margaret broke in excitedly. “But Sheriff Humbert was the one who took the call. Remember him, Emma?”

“Sure,” Emma replied. “Didn’t Dad deal with him, re-designing the old station several years ago?”

“Well, they always stayed friendly,” her mother continued. “And he knows how Gold is, probably has his hands in a few pockets in his own department. But he’s always been a good man.”

“He only slapped me with a fine, the smallest he could get away with,” David said. “Same for your friend, Victor. Though I had to put in a good word on his behalf. But how could I not, seeing as he bloodied that bastard’s—“

“ _David_ ,” Mary Margaret scolded, then turned to Emma. “Even though everything worked out, in no way do I condone all the violence that happened.”

Emma kept her smile in check. “Well, I do, Dad.”

“Emma, don’t encourage him! He’s been walking around the house ever since like he thinks he’s Dirty Harry, or something.”

“She’s exaggerating,” David grinned, eyes twinkling. “Oh, and needless to say, Pastor Hopper strongly encouraged us to never use his church for a “Nolan family event” ever again.”

Emma laughed. “No argument there. Hey,” she continued, glancing around, “where’s Regina? Did she get blackout drunk at the open bar?”

“She’s…staying at the Viceroy still,” David said nonchalantly, buttering some toast.

“What? Is she really that mad about the car? She couldn’t stand to see me for awhile?”

“No…no,” Mary Margaret said, flustered, a blush spreading across her face. “She’s alright—“ she fumbled with her cell phone on the table. “She sent me a text after the festivities were over, and said…she found someone she took a liking to, and…well, she said—they’re getting on well.“

 _Goddammit, Regina_. “She’s _staying_ at the hotel with a guy?! I told her not to hit on Neal’s friend! Was it Robin? The other groomsman?”  

“That unkempt fellow? Yes. And Emma, you should know by now how well Regina listens to anyone else,” David said, looking amused.

“But—but she’s twice his age! What—“

“No need to remind me!” Mary Margaret said, blushing even more furiously.

“Well,” Emma said, feeling slightly disturbed. “Should I call and ask her about the car?”

Mary Margaret glanced nervously at David, who had a sneaky smile stealing over his face. “Sh—she, um, said not to contact her before the end of the week, on pain of…well, pain. She said the only reason we’d hear from her is if she needs to be taken to the hospital for a hip replacement after, ah, all’s been said and done.”

“If she needs…oh, _ewww_!” Emma shrieked, realization dawning on her all at once. She clapped her hands over her ears. “Too much info!”

“Indeed,” David agreed, wrapping an arm around her mother. “However, since you kind of brought this on, your mother and I decided you’d be her chauffeur if that dreaded call comes in.”

Emma sighed. “She’s going to lord this over me for years to come. But I can’t really deny her, after all she did.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll relax, once you name your firstborn after her,” David replied jovially, pouring himself a second cup of coffee. “Who would’ve thought a failed wedding would end up in a successful cougar hunt.”

“David!” Mary Margaret yelled, trying to land a hard slap on his arm. He danced out of her reach, laughing. “I swear, your father is enjoying this whole situation far too much. It’s incredibly inappropriate.”

“Dad, she does have a point. I mean, technically, at Regina’s age it’s more appropriate to call it a _panther_ hunt.”

Mary Margaret plunked herself down in a kitchen chair, gaze sliding between Emma and David. “You know what, I give up. I’m clearly outnumbered by two teenaged boys.”

Emma settled back, coffee cup in hand, appreciating her parents’ chatter for a minute before she joined in. It was relaxing to be able to lower her walls around them again.

* * *

“So…what do I do now?” Emma had Elsa and Ruby on speaker, waiting for her class at the rec center to start. Naturally, she had barely been able to get a word in, with all their (even usually calm Elsa) squealing over her hunting Killian down at the club.

“Everything’s come full circle,” Ruby said, with a little sigh.

“We knew it all along,” Elsa stated firmly.

“You guys did not!”

“We did! You were just too stubborn to see it at first.”

“You two dopes were clearly meant to be,” Ruby said. “But as for what you do now…well yeah, you’ve skipped a few steps. So, you’ll have to backtrack.”

“Backtrack?”

“Go on a date, Emma,” Elsa clarified. “Like regular people. Even though you’re both obviously nuts.”

“But…I haven’t been on a first date in _years_.”

“Tough shit,” said Ruby. “You’ve got the man, and he’s sure done his fair share of chasing. Now go do some wooing of your own.”

* * *

Killian tossed a potato in the oven to bake, then flopped down on the couch, a long sigh of contentment escaping him. He would never have imagined the past few days turning out as they had—he was used to everything blowing up in his face. But somehow, he’d gotten the girl, had her come back to  _him_ no less, and it was all a lot to take in. All the kissy noises the other guys at the club (and at the container yard, thanks to Scarlet) made whenever he passed them were well worth it—in fact, having his coworkers know a woman like Emma thought so much of him made him walk around with his chest puffed out in pride. Not to mention, for the first time in over a half-decade, he could feel the steel grip around his heart loosening ever so slightly. It wasn’t gone, would never be fully gone, but having Emma around—it was healing. A wistful smile played at the corners of his mouth. Liam would’ve liked her.

A sharp knock at the door broke through his musings, and he stumbled to his feet, annoyed. Why did those bloody Mormon kids always show up right at dinner time? Maybe on this occasion he’d point out it didn’t endear anyone to their—

“Emma?” he said, surprised. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but—we didn’t have plans tonight, did we?” Truthfully, he was a bit embarrassed about her catching him in his after-work ripped sweatpants, and smudges still on his faces.

“No…” she said, fiddling with a corner of her shirt. “I—I’ve just come to, well…I was thinking about what you said. About being in a relationship.”

Oh, bloody hell, she wasn’t getting cold feet, was she? Him and his big mouth. “I didn’t mean to scare you off with that, lass. If you want, we can just go back to—“

“No! I mean, no, I don’t want to go backwards. I’m only looking towards the future with you, Killian.” 

He raised a brow. “What’re you saying, Swan?”

“We’re doing this—this whole _relationship_ thing right from now on. So, first things first—I’m here to ask you out. Like, to dinner…or something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know...this chap had some crazy parts, too. But I felt like after all that had happened, Killian deserved a grand gesture.


	12. The Future Begins

“So, I kinda have a request for the date tonight,” Emma said, phone on speaker as she stroked her paintbrush, making a few finishing touches on the small landscape of the pier she’d started yesterday.

“Now, Swan,” Killian chided, “are you trying to amend our agreement? Because I remember you agreeing to let _me_ plan this—“

“No, nothing having to do with the date itself. It’s just—would you mind picking me up at my parents’ house?”

“Your parents’ house,” he repeated slowly.

“Yeah. It’s just…my dad is feeling iffy on the whole men-in-his-daughter’s-life front right now. Can you blame him? And he’d…well, he’d like to meet you.” God, he’d probably laugh at her. It was so embarrassing to ask a grown man to meet her father on their first date; she felt like she was in high school again. Still, her parents had been so understanding, and if it put their minds at ease….

“Well…it’s an unusual request. Can’t remember the last time I met a lass’s parents.”

“If it makes a difference, my dad knocked out both Gold and Neal on the church altar. See? You have so much to agree on already.”

Killian laughed incredulously. “Did he really?”

“I swear. Oh, and Victor broke Neal’s nose.”

“I’ll have to shake the bloke’s hand next time I see him, but, as for tonight: of course. If my Swan wants me to get sized up by her father, so be it.”

“Thank you. By the way, what’re we doing? I mean what should I wear? Are we going to a hoedown, a bonfire, grunion fishing—“

“Quit your bloody digging, Swan, I already said it’s going to be a surprise! All I’ll say is, you may want to…spruce up some for our evening. Not that you don’t look ravishing in any attire, but—“

“Hmm, fancy, eh? So this isn’t some shorts-and-sneakers affair?”

“Definitely not.”

Emma grinned, intrigued. She couldn’t even imagine what Killian could have planned for them. “Are we going to…the L.A. Philharmonic?”

“Wrong, and I told you…it’s a surprise.”

“Are we going to…the opera?”

“ _Swan_ ,” he began warningly.

“Oooh, or, um, the Getty’s opening of—“

“You’re an exasperating woman; I’ll be there at seven,” Killian said in a rush, then simply hung up. Emma laughed; he was hilarious when he got all riled up.

* * *

Emma fixed herself up at her apartment before heading over to her parents’ place. She was sure Killian was the type that would think she looked good in anything, but for him, she wanted to make an effort. She’d chosen a pale pink dress with a swishy skirt and a deep V-neck, tan heels, and since it was the height of summer, had her hair gathered off her neck. Girly, but comfortable.

“Oh, don’t you look lovely!’ Mary Margaret gushed when she saw her. “Regina’s back,” she continued in a lower voice as she followed Emma back inside.

“And?”

“Well, I haven’t had the chance to ask—I don’t even know if I’ll have the nerve—but I just can’t believe this! I mean, she’s old enough to be his—“

“Mary Margaret Nolan, don’t you dare finish that remark,” Regina’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs. Emma figured she must’ve just returned, because Regina waltzed into the living room in the same suit she’d worn for the wedding, definitely far more rumpled now, and, uncharacteristically, no makeup on.

Mary Margaret gave Emma’s arm a hard squeeze. “Look, Emma, your grandmother’s back! Why don’t—“

“ _Not_ a grandmother,” Regina insisted.

“—why don’t you, uh, catch up? I think your father needs help with dinner…who wants tea? I’m going to go make tea!” Mary Margaret sprinted for the kitchen, cheeks flaming red.

Regina stuck a finger in Emma’s face. “Don’t think I didn’t notice my emergency $100 missing. _That_ will be replaced posthaste, understood? I’ve also left the Cadillac at the dealership, and if they find _any_ dings or scratches or strange odors—you better not have gotten up to any nefarious activities in my—“

“Relax, Regina,” Emma said. “I treated it like it was my own.”

“That’s what worries me. Don’t think I haven’t seen that bucket of bolts you careen around town in—“

Emma couldn’t resist needling her a little; she was practically asking for it. “You know, for someone who claims she’s not a grandmother, lending me your prized possession in my hour of need was a very _Gran-Gran_ thing to do.”

Regina’s face drained of color, then she sputtered, “I just—I—I despise the Golds more than you!”

“Aw Regina, I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. Hug?” Emma feigned as though she were about to wrap her arms around Regina’s neck, biting back a grin at the panic spreading over the other woman’s features.

“Stop! No—no touching!” She put her arms full length in front of her, hands spread defensively.

Emma wagged a finger at her. “Alright—this time. But I can tell, you’re softening up.”

Regina smoothed a hand down her wrinkled suit jacket. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Emma sat down on the loveseat. “How…how was your week?” she eeked out uncomfortably.

Regina flounced into an easy chair, a catlike grin of satisfaction stealing over her face. Emma huffed out a breath; now it was payback time, and she just knew she was in for an awkward conversation.

Regina fanned herself dramatically. “Where shall I start? Well…who knew that six months in the desert does wonders for the male stamina. Really, the things that man could do with his—“

Emma covered her face. “Regina, I will _pay_ you not to finish that sentence.”

“Likewise!” David called from the kitchen.

“Prudes,” Regina sniffed, turning up her nose. “You’ll thank me for the tip, once you feel the need to send Hot Pants to Malaysia…Macau…whatever…”

“Mongolia.”

“Right, that one… to send him there to return with a rejuvenated technique.”

Emma lowered her voice to a furious whisper so her parents couldn’t hear. “His technique is just _fine_ , thank you very much.”

Regina just gave her an ‘ _oh really?_ ’ smirk. Emma had no choice but to continue with the original subject; she wasn’t going down _that_ road, especially with her step-grandmother.

“So what happens next between you and…and your paramour?”

Regina waved a hand carelessly. “Hell if I know. He’s off to have some monk in Timbuktu cleanse his chakras, or some such bullshit. The important thing is, I got my pipes cleaned, and—“

Emma pressed her palms to her forehead. “ _Please_ stop talking!”

David came out, giving an exaggerated tilt of his head to glance at his watch. “I hope this boy doesn’t think he can keep my daughter waiting. When someone says seven, they better mean—“

“Dad, he still has a few minutes. Chill.”

David crossed his arms, eying her critically. “Isn’t that neckline a bit…low?”

“ _Dad_!”

“Oh, please, David,” Regina sneered. “It’s nothing he hasn’t seen already. Do you really think she’d leave a fiancé at the altar for someone who hasn’t seen the goods bef—“ David’s face started to purple.

Emma groaned. “Oh my _god_ , somebody please kill me, or—“

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” Emma and David yelled simultaneously, each trying to beat the other to the door. In the end, David won, wrenching the knob and opening the door. Emma hopped up to see over his shoulder.

“Yes?!” he thundered.

“I…ah, hello, sir,” came Killian’s uncertain but clear voice. “I’m here for Emma?”

“Dad, let him in,” Emma ordered. David took one small step back reluctantly, and Killian squeezed past David and the doorframe.

“Swan,” he breathed, “You look…stunning.”

So did he, and she was about to say so until David interrupted.

“Mary Margaret, the strip—Emma’s friend just arrived!”

Mary Margaret came out. “Hello again, Killian. Don’t you look dapper!”

“Thank you, ma’am. Hello again, Ms. Mills.”

Regina accepted the cup Mary Margaret had brought to her, nodding at Killian. “Hot Pants.”

Killian turned back to David. “And you must be Mr. Nolan,” he said, giving a grin so wide, it was goofy. David gave his hand a wary glance before clutching it tightly.

“So, Killian—is that your real name or a stage name?”

“Eh…real, sir.”

“You don’t sound too certain about that. Got a real job besides this naked business?”

“Dad, stop it.”

“I just want to get to know the guy, Princess.” He turned back to Killian.

“I work at the container yard down in Long Beach most days, sir.”

David rubbed his chin. “Not bad….So…you see this stripping thing as long-term? Are you still going to let other women touch you while you’re dating my daughter?”

“Er—“

“Dad,” Emma said loudly. “Killian doesn’t see himself doing this forever. But it’s a good gig for now. And,” she went on, linking her arm into Killian’s, “it doesn’t matter how many women flirt with or grab him—because he’s bringing this tight butt home to _me_.”

Reactions were instantaneous: Killian had a coughing fit, whether genuine or to keep from laughing in front of David, Emma couldn’t tell. Regina gave a loud bray, her mouthful of tea shooting out across the coffee table. She fully expected a quick lecture on _appropriateness_ and _respect_ from Mary Margaret, but when she caught her mother’s eye, she just got an amused wink.

David looked a little flabbergasted. “I—well—okay,” he stammered. “ _But_ ,” he continued, reaching out and curling both hands into Killian’s jacket collar, “You will _treasure_ her, do you understand? And if you don’t, well…I’ll be out for you. I took sword fighting lessons at the Renaissance Fair last year, and—“

“David, that’s enough,” Mary Margaret said, trying to hide her smile. “Unhand the poor boy.”

“Bye, everyone,” Emma said hurriedly, practically dragging Killian out the door, David on their heels.

“Sure you don’t want me to drive?”

“ _Bye_.”

* * *

Killian took them back to Santa Monica, to a casual little neighborhood Italian pasta place that it turned out Emma had been to before. At least it was a restaurant she was fond of; Killian was more concerned about his post-dinner plans for them.

“So,” Emma said, dabbing at her mouth with a red-checkered napkin, “I’m assuming you didn’t tell me to dress up just to come to Fritto Misto? Don’t misunderstand, I love it, but—“

“No, Swan, you’re correct. I’ve got a little something else up my sleeve. Done?”

She took one last large gulp of her white wine, finishing off the glass. “Sure, let’s go. You’ve got me on pins and needles here.”

When they pulled up to Bergamot Station, he glanced carefully at her. The first step was getting her to actually peruse the exhibits. There was still so much to learn about each other, he mused, and he hoped she wouldn’t be too sensitive about her past with the place to reject a visit.

She gave him a questioning look. “Bergamot Station?”

“Mmhmm,” Killian said, busying himself with getting out of the Beetle and opening her door. “I—I hope it’s not too much, I know you said you used to have work in this spot, and there’s an opening tonight—“

Emma laid a hand on his arm. “Killian, it’s perfect.” She rubbed the back of her hand against his stubbled cheek in an affectionate caress. “Thank you for listening to me.”

He grinned down at her, intertwined their fingers. “You ought to start getting used to that, Swan.”

They snaked their way through the various galleries, Killian making sure to pay enough attention whichever painting or photo Emma was discussing at the moment, but continually scanning the crowd.

“Are you alright?” she asked, just as they entered a great hall with strange knitted sculptures suspended from the ceiling.

“’Course, love—why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno…you seem distracted.”

“It’s just a lot to take in.”

She smiled. “Yeah, it does get overwhelming.” She nudged his shoulder, glancing above their heads. “Hideous, right?” He followed her gaze, grimacing at the brown, tangled monstrosity. “Too right, lass.”

“Should we ditch this one?”

“Not—not yet,” he replied, having spotted his target, and subtly angling her towards the refreshment table.

A familiar laugh had Emma’s head turning from a knitted pink teddy bear dangling from a green web towards the source. There was something about that gray slim suit, the polka dot bowtie, the close-cropped curly hair—and then the man turned from profile to full view.

“Wait a sec, that’s—that’s Sidney!”

“Who?”

“He’s—well, was—my agent, when I was still displaying. Sidney Glass.” A pang of regret flared in her chest, at how things in that arena could have been, if she’d only—no. She’d already wasted too much time on _what ifs_ , and she was here tonight to enjoy artwork with an insanely attractive, amazing man.

She turned towards Killian, ready to brush aside her near-encounter; after all, Sidney was still involved in this world—why shouldn’t he be here? She stopped when she spotted the carefully constructed poker face Killian was currently—unsuccessfully—trying to wear.

“You know him?” she said, more a statement of fact than a question.

“Er, who?” His tone reeked of affected innocence, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Killian Jones, don’t you dare—“

“ _Ohhh_ , your old agent? No…not in person.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “What’d you mean by that?”

“I only—“ he started, but was shortly interrupted by a loud greeting sounding over the other conversations, and Emma turned to see Sidney had spotted her.

“ _Emma_! Emma, _dahling_!” Sidney waltzed over to them, arms outspread over his head, hips swiveling, ever the flamboyant type. He came to a halt in front of her, leaned down, and blew an air kiss to each cheek.

“Uh, Sidney, hi,” she said awkwardly, reaching up to give him a hug around the shoulder. He dusted off the spot with a handkerchief. “Oh, Sidney, this is my…uh, Killian—“

“Oooh, Mr. Jones, in the flesh.” He reached out and grasped Killian’s fingertips, giving them a quick squeeze.

“What. Is going. On,” Emma growled, not liking how out-of-the-loop she was feeling.

Sidney fluttered a hand at her. “Now, Emma, don’t get uppity.” He gave Killian a thorough once-over, saying with a loud whisper, “Isn’t she just a little spitfire? Though I’m sure a strong, tall drink of water like yourself can handle—“

 “ _Sidney_.”

“Oh, Emma, don’t act so surprised.” He took out his phone, squinting at it as he scrolled through his photo folder. “Here we go!” he announced, turning the screen towards Emma. A picture of her Killian portrait stared back at her.

“I—I don’t understand—“ she turned to Killian. “You sent a photo of the painting to Sidney?”

Sidney gave Emma’s shoulder a delicate pat. “There was no need to be shy, Emma. My, my, I never thought I’d see the day that Emma Swan was too shy to approach _me_!” He clapped a hand to his chest dramatically, shot Killian a conspiratory look. “What am I, the big, bad wolf?”

Emma glared at them both. “I’m still not following.”

“Don’t be bashful, my dear. Your young man emailed me everything—how you wanted to get back into the swing of things, had started painting again—he attached this,” Sidney said, indicating the picture. “Simple, rudimentary, of that there’s no doubt…but I still see the old Emma Swan spark.” He stopped his effusive chatter, and fixed Emma with a look she remembered—the ‘ _I mean business_ ’ look.

“I’m not just going to give you back everything you gave up, you know. You’ve got to show me you’re serious. And not go running off on me this time. Everyone has problems, dearest, and—“

“I know,” Emma said, feeling like her head was spinning at the suddenness of everything. “I know, and…I’m not going to let you down this time, Sidney.”

He held up a finger. “One chance, Emma. That’s how it’s got to be. I have other clients, and—“

“I get it. Can I call you tomorrow? We—we can get together, and…sort things out?”  

“Certainly,” Sidney said, already starting to edge away towards some other people he knew. “I’ll expect it!” He looked back at Killian. “Keep her on track, and if things don’t work out—“ he sidled behind them as he went on his way, and Killian gave a start.

“He grabbed my ass!” he exclaimed, turning to Emma, who only stared at him with a completely unreadable expression. He steeled himself. “I’m sorry, love. I found Glass’s card when I at your place the other day, looked him up. The fact that you hadn’t thrown it out—well, I could tell you miss all this,” he said, waving his hand to encompass the room. And—and I just took it upon myself. I knew you wouldn’t—you’re proud and stubborn and—but really, that’s no excuse. I really am sorry.” Killian took a small step back, waiting for a tirade, for her to walk out of his life, to scream at him for going behind her back.

Instead, she slid her hands up his chest, clasping them around his neck. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

He sighed. “No, no, I really shouldn’t have. But—“

“You should’ve told me.”

“I know, but let me—“

“That was pretty sneaky of you.” She started playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Indeed…?” Where was this going?

“So, I think we should leave.”

“Ah. You want to send me on my way in a less public place—”

“ _No_. I mean, I think we should go back to my place. To continue the date.”

Was she implying what he thought she was? “So…you’re _glad_ about…all this?”

Emma snorted. “I wouldn’t say glad, but I know that’s just my pride, that someone else did what I was too chicken to do myself.” She ran one hand up into his hair, and tilted his face towards hers. “You’re good for me, Jones,” she murmured before fitting her mouth to his.

* * *

 Killian sucked in a breath as Emma crawled up his body, biting and licking every patch of skin in her path, then sat and braced her palms on his chest, lowering herself onto him, inch by delicious inch. Every fiber of his being wanted to thrust up quickly, take her with merciless abandon, but he could tell she was being deliberate in her movements. He’d just done something huge for her, and she wanted them to take their time with each other.

He exhaled slowly, head arched back, grip firm on her hips. “Swan, you’re killing me here.”

Emma sank down onto him completely then, with a small sigh. “God, you feel so good inside me,” she said huskily, giving a small thrust. “Do you like being inside me, Killian? Like me gripping your cock with my cunt?”

He gulped. So, Emma was a dirty talker—bloody fuck, it just got better and better. Killian finally sat up a little, pushing her even further down onto him, making her gasp. “Oh, gods yes, Swan—in fact, I think I’ve found a small heaven between your legs.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be—oh!” she cried, as he flipped them over, not breaking their connection.

“In fact,” he murmured, “ I quite like everything about this gorgeous body of yours. Like here,” he bit gently down on her collarbone. “And here,” he continued, leaning down and nibbling at her breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth.

“Fucking shit, Killian,” she said breathlessly.

“Now, I’m not done. Why, I like this spot, too,” he said, trailing a hand down her torso, between her breasts, over her stomach, and finally stopping to press a fingertip to her clit, rubbing slowly. He felt her muscles contract.

“Goddammit, Killian,” Emma moaned, hitching her legs up to dig her heels into his ass. He grinned, reaching down to cup her ass in turn and rolling into her lazily, over and over. It was markedly different this time, not the frantic coupling of a first time, or the desperate speed they’d taken each other the night of the wedding, when there were finally no more barriers keeping them apart. Tonight, it was slow and almost…reverent. And he planned to enjoy her for as long, and often, as possible.

Killian maneuvered Emma onto her side, curling up behind her and lifting her leg over his hip, burying himself inside again almost immediately, both of their groans mingling together in the room. Emma reached hand back, cupping his head, twisting around to see him. “God, baby, you feel fucking incredible like this,” she murmured, stilling momentarily—where had _that_ come from? Emma Nolan didn’t do cute little pet names. Well…, she decided, maybe it was yet another side affect of being completely enamored with Killian Jones.

“Mmm,” Killian mumbled, reaching down and thumbing at where they were joined while continuing to thrust. Emma stretched her arm back, pulling him closer—fuck, that was going to do it. “Killian,” she panted, “Killian, I’m going to come.” She leaned back, biting his bottom lip. “Come—come with me.”

A final rub, a last thrust, and they both fell, their twin shouts turning into winded breathing. They rolled onto their backs, Emma letting her head loll on Killian’s shoulder.

“Emma, you’re doing it again.”

“Hmm?”

“Staring at me like you have X-ray vision, or something. Something wrong?”

“No, not—not exactly. But, I should probably confess something. Since we’re supposed to be all honest with each other.”

“There’s not another fiancé waiting in the wings, is there?”

“ _No_. Shut up.” She waved her hands nervously. “I mean, I know _Cosmo_ says not to say…well, say certain things on a first date, but we’re kinda past that, and, um, it’s just, I mean I feel—“

He laughed, taking her hands and pulling her closer. “Emma love, what the devil are you babbling on about?”

She rolled into his side. “Don’t, uh…don’t take this weird, or anything, but— _ithinkiloveyou_.”

He arched a brow. “I’m sorry? You’ll have to repeat that, I don’t speak mumble-mouth.”

Emma punched his arm. “I said, I. Think. I. Love. You. Happy now?”

He pulled her onto his chest. “Hmm. Well, now. That _is_ quite a coincidence.”

She looked up at him. “What is?”

“Well, that you _think_ you love me. Because I’ve _thought_ I loved you since you almost bit my head off onstage over a month ago. But now, I’m quite certain. That I love you, that is.”

She tensed, waited for that practical little voice in her head to say this was all _too much, too soon, too fast_ , but it seemed to be keeping its trap shut.

“You know, I might have fibbed a little there, just now. When I said I thought I loved you.”

His face fell. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Cause I don’t think. _I know_.”

He let his breath out in one fell _whoosh_. “Bloody hell, woman, I’m going to get you back for that one!”

And she laughed as he rolled her beneath him again.

* * *

“Eeeee!” Ruby squealed, clapping her hands over her mouth. “They said the L-word!”

Elsa leaned back in the booth she, Ruby, Victor, and Will were sharing at O’Brien’s Pub waiting for their beers, staring at the rest of them disapprovingly. “You know, a butt dial doesn’t give people permission to listen in on your conversation.”

“It certainly does!” Will insisted, smacking her hand away from his phone again, which was on speaker in the center of the table.

“Seems you only remember that thing when it doesn’t count,” Elsa replied, eyes narrowing.

“Oy, I said I was sorry! Going to rub that in my face the rest of me days?”

“Quite possibly.”

“Oh, stop,” Ruby said. “Everything turned out all right! Elsa, just be glad that thing didn’t ring a little earlier, cause I’d guarantee they were banging beforehand.”

Elsa rolled her eyes, face blazing red.

“Just think,” Ruby went on, eyes glazing over, “soon we’ll all be able to do triple dates.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Elsa waved her hands furiously. “ _This_ ,” she motioned between her and Will, “is _not_ a date!”

“That stings, lovely.”

“Good.”

“Um,” Victor cut in, shifting in his seat. “I don’t think they’re talking anymore.” He indicated the rustling sound coming from the phone.

“That’s enough!” Elsa declared, giving Will a backhand right in the forehead, and pressing the ‘end call’ button with her other hand.

“You’re no fun,” he pouted.

“And _you’re_ a perv!”

* * *

Emma leaned over, looking down Killian’s back. “Did you hear something?”

“Nothing but your last moan of ecstasy before you—“

She smacked his ass. “No, really—“ She dug around under his hip. “Oh, you were lying on your phone.” She set it gently on the nightstand. “Your screen wasn’t locked; you know, you can end up butt dialing people that way.”

“Remind me never to accept nor save your father’s number, and I think we’ll be just peachy.”

* * *

**Thanks, hope you enjoyed it! I know I had fun writing it!**

 


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